


Do I Not See You

by D_Veleniet



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angsty romancey wibbly wobbly, But Thirteen is real, F/F, F/M, More angst at the beginning, Trapped!Clara, Twelve lives in Clara's head
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-08-06 18:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16393295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_Veleniet/pseuds/D_Veleniet
Summary: “Yes,” Clara whispered, like she dare not speak any louder for fear of scaring her would-be rescuers away.  “It’s like you’re here with…”  Saying it was even harder, as the months, years – decades? – of being alone in her prison rose like a tidal wave.“Hey, hey.”  The woman seemed to understand, her voice soft, soothing.  “It’s all right.  It’s okay.  We’re gonna get you out of there, I promise.  What’s your name?”Clara had used so many names in the past, but stripped down to a trembling mess of vulnerability, the only one that came to her was her original Earth-given name.  “It’s...it’s Clara.”There was a long pause.  “Good name.  Clara.”  And maybe it was her near-reverent tone, but Clara almost believed her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WHY is there not more Thirteen/Clara??? With an established bi companion, and the Doctor getting her memories back, I would've expected WAY more than is out there right now! Anyway, this idea took hold and wouldn't go away. This first chapter is just setting stuff up, but the rest is purely Thirteen and Clara, promise. Hope you (the few of you who might be into Thirteen and Clara) enjoy! :)

Clara coughed, and there wasn’t even an echo to fill the void it left behind.  Just the dark, dead space of her prison.

_Enclosure.  Remember how you get when you use that word?_

Right.  Her _enclosure_.  This room, this specially designed shelter that had unwittingly become her home these last…however many weeks.  Or was it months?  How could she keep track when there was no way to keep time? 

_Don’t be so hard on yourself for showing up empty-handed.  The only reason I ever had anything with me was that my pockets were –_

_”_ Bigger on the inside, yeah, I know.  Doesn’t mean I don’t think about every handy device I could have brought with me, lying about on my ship.”

_Do I need to remind you that I arrived to my torture chamber unarmed?  I didn’t even have my spoon._

“Yeah, but at least you had something to do.  I’d probably give anything for a nightmare from my childhood to be chasing me through a castle surrounded by water that moved inside a confession dial.”

_Be careful what you wish for._

Clara shook her head disparagingly.  “That doesn’t even sound like you.  I’m getting rusty.”

_Rusty!  Rusty was what I called that Dalek, remember?  That was the first time you slapped me._

“And now I’m getting desperate, if thinking about the first time I slapped you is the best I can do.”  Her head fell back against the wall with a soft thud.  _Gods_ , she was tired.  No – it went beyond tiredness, beyond exhaustion.  It was a specific brand of…numbness.  That numbness that only prisoners in solitary confinement could sympathize with:  alone in a black space with nothing to break the monotony of darkness and complete silence. 

How could she have gotten it so wrong?

The course had been set to random, landing her on the lush, green planet of Cantrapallados.  If she’d had the chance, she would’ve done a fair bit of sight-seeing:  its bustling cities were nestled in between green, sloping valleys, miles upon miles of rainforest in the hotter regions, with a network of sparkling aquamarine rivers running in between.  But from the moment she stepped out of the TARDIS, she was swept up into a full-fledged emergency:  the Cantrapalladians were desperately trying to launch a full-scale evacuation since their sun had started leaking noxious gas into the atmosphere.  The problem was that some had stubbornly refused to leave, opting instead to wait it out in various air-tight shelters scattered across the landscape. 

Yet, the projected levels of gas were expected to render the once-impermeable shelters about as effective as hiding under bedsheets.  So she had been visiting each, talking her way into them, coaxing the terrified civilians out and loading the evacuees onto her TARDIS to fly them to the designated refugee camps on a nearby planet.  Until finally, she had come to this one, far outside the main cities and towns.  The Cantrapalladians had protested that there weren’t any registered shelters left, but Clara insisted that they couldn’t discount those who lived outside the system just because they didn’t want to be bothered. 

This shelter was different than the others, with no discernible door or entry hatch, measuring a tiny 5x5 meters.  It was made of a different substance, too, which Clara figured was probably cheaper, and after receiving no response from banging and shouting on its walls, she started feeling around the outside for any sort of break or dip in the structure that could indicate an opening.  A door had suddenly opened, and she’d had the briefest glimpse of the inside before it snapped shut behind her, sealing her inside.   

And after that – nothing.  No light, no sound, no air.  Just the dark.  And the silence.

_Clara…_

But it wasn’t that comforting silence, the one that could wrap around you like a soothing, warm hug.  No.  This was the oppressive kind.  The kind that seemed to take on its own menacing personality, turning into a black, slithery thing that lived in the corner, waiting patiently for the opportune moment to slide across the floor and crawl up her legs, fill up her abdomen, wrap itself around her throat and squeeze, finally putting an end to -

_Clara!_

She let out a sound that was half laugh and half sob.  “You know, it would be so much better if it actually existed.  At least I’d have something to fight.”

_You don’t think you’d just huddle in the opposite corner, terrified all the time that it was coming for you?_

The taunt worked, breaking her dangerous train of thought enough that she whipped her head around to glare at where she imagined the Doctor would be.  “Thanks for _that_ vote of confidence.  I’m not the one who’s afraid of the dark, remember?”  Staring out into the black, she let out a sigh.  “I just hate it.  I mean, I’ve learned to live with it, haven’t exactly had a choice, but – I still hate it.”

_Oh, come onnn.  There’s so much about the dark that’s quite wonderful.  Have you really forgotten?_

“Maybe I have.  Remind me.”

_Without the deep and lovely dark, you’d never see stars._

Fine.  This train of thought was enough to distract her, at least.  Above her head she imagined stars, the stars as she remembered them from Earth.  Millions upon millions of tiny pinpricks of light and not big, giant, glowing balls of fiery gas that occasionally poisoned the inhabitants who lived on the closest planet. 

_You were imagining stars?_

“Yeah.  They were so beautiful back then.”  A sadness slowly crept over her.  “Remember when they were just beautiful, and you could just...enjoy them?”

_They are always beautiful to me.  They never stopped being beautiful._ Lost enough in this reverie, she could almost hear him settling next to her, the sound of his velvet jacket brushing against the fabric of his trousers.  _When did they stop being beautiful to you?_

“They still are.  They’re just...more complicated now.”

_Ah.  So the beauty has merely taken on dimension._

She shrugged.  “I guess.  Yeah, you could say that.”

_They’re no longer tiny, indiscriminate points of light.  They have names and terrains and countries and different colours and atmospheres and inhabitants.  All beautiful in their own way._

She was pensive.  “You once described the Universe as your backyard.  I couldn’t imagine how someone could possibly see all those wonders and grow tired of it all.  Where it just became commonplace.  Overgrown bushes and some rusty lawn chairs.”

_But you’ve only been doing this for 500 years!  You can’t be tired of it already!_

She rolled her eyes, but it was belied by the quirk to her lips.  “Right, I know, nothing compared to your ridiculous timeline.”  Her mouth straightened as she fingered the edge of her skirt.  “But honestly…did you ever grow tired of it?  Did you ever want to stop?”

_I never did.  I never have.  Those last two statements might be lies, of course._ A pause.  _But the important question is - do you?_

A half shrug.  “I didn’t before.  Now…I don’t know.”

She could almost hear his sigh.  _Well.  Two things always kept me going:  having someone with me who wouldn’t see rusting lawn chairs –_

“Nakbu.”

The name of her former companion came out on a startled whisper, the face rising unbidden to mind.

Those _eyes_ – bright and starry and shining at the beginning –

Then - the desperation, the terror, the light going out –

“Yeah, well, don’t have anyone like that right now.”  Her words came in a rush as she pushed the images and memories away. 

_You did exactly as I would’ve done:  you got in your ship, and you ran because you couldn’t take it._ She could almost hear his sanctimonious tone.  _But trust me, it all catches up with you, eventually.  You can’t outrun it forever._

If her heart were beating, it would’ve made her blood boil.  “I took _one_ trip.  One.  I didn’t spend four and a half billion years in a torture chamber ‘cause I couldn’t deal with it.  Oh, and while we’re on _that_ subject, I didn’t have feelings for her that I was too scared or confused or _cowardly_ to admit so that I buried them so deep that when asked about _why_ I let myself be tortured for so long all I could say was ‘I had a duty of care.’”

This time she could almost feel him sulking.  _500 years and you still haven’t let go of that?_

“No, I haven’t,” she snapped.  “But shut up because you know what?  I’ve let go of everything else.  I’ve stopped looking for your face in every crowd.  I’ve stopped straining my ears for the sound of your voice.  I’ve stopped befriending or getting involved with the mad scientist types on the off-chance that it will turn out to be you, re-trained myself _not_ to gravitate towards the quirky personality, the ‘cool’ bowtie or the professor-type jacket, the frenetic energy, the long strings of technobabble, to shut it all off because even though I’d know you anywhere…I had to stop looking for you _everywhere_.”

_Yet, here you are:  talking to me after all this time.  Successfully steering the conversation from topics that make you uncomfortable.  Because you didn’t let me finish earlier._         

“What?”

_I said that there were two things that kept me going.  The first was having someone with you who could still see the wonders.  The second was something to fight for.  You may not want to admit it, but after all this time, you still want to see me again.  That’s why you haven’t gone back to Trap Street._

“Okay – first:  dear _God_ , I’m glad that you’re not actually here.  This shelter would be way too small for your ego.  Second:  why would I want to run into you again when it would just make me sad?  You wouldn’t be able to see me.”

_I have several answers, and you’re not going to like any of them._

She let out a disgruntled sigh.  “Do I ever?”

_First:  because you’re stubborn.  Because you think you can prove the prophecy wrong about us being the Hybrid._

“The prophecy is rubbish.  Even Me agreed she got it wrong and apologized for posing it ‘cause she didn’t know you’d take it so seriously.”

_Second:  pride.  You want to prove to yourself that you’re not still in love with me five centuries later._

Even alone in the dark, Clara’s face scrunched up, her shoulders caving around her chest like she could physically protect herself from the words.  “I’m…not even going to respond to that.  Because wherever you are, your ego just grew ten sizes bigger.” 

_And third:  hope.  You still have hope._

“Hope?”

Like Pandora’s box, it had been shoved to the very bottom of her consciousness, never once entering any of her conversations or even her thoughts.  Deemed too dangerous to think, let alone voice, she had to fight the ridiculous impulse to clamp a hand over her mouth for daring to speak it aloud.  Hope that someone would eventually find her.  Hope that she would make it out of there.  Hope that she wasn’t doomed to spend the rest of eternity in the dark and the silence with only her memories and imagination to accompany her.

_Hold onto that, Clara._

Swallowing down the lump that had formed in her throat, she imagined him next to her, her hands curling around his arm, her cheek coming to rest against his shoulder.  “Tell me about the Venusian nuns again.”

_Ah yes, the Venusian nuns.  Very much like the Sisterhood of Karn, but no less intimidating…_

\-------

Days, weeks, months passed.  Time crawled by.

Clara recited passages from favourite books and poems – then tried translating each of them into all the languages she’d learned over the centuries.  She sang every song she knew – first by genre and then, as a brain teaser, in alphabetical order.  She developed an exercise routine, discovering which ones she could perform best in the dark.  Conversations, however, remained the best diversion – not just with the Doctor, but with friends, former lovers, spouses, companions – even some enemies.  She tried to keep the conversations lighthearted or intellectual, never once allowing them to stray into what she’d firmly delineated as “emotional minefield” topics. 

One morning (or afternoon or evening), she got into a heated debate with a former companion named Eretrio, a Seraphian prince who had run away from his structured, overly-dictated life.  His departure had been seasoned with more sweet than bitter, as his reasons for leaving Clara were pure:  he fell head-over-heels for a street urchin-turned-hot-shot pilot named Xellender.  Before that fortuitous meeting, however, Eretrio had loudly and repeatedly complained about his life as a prince - except for the balls, fancying himself quite the dancer.  In her effort to work not only her image memory but muscle memory, Clara had insisted that she still remembered Earth dances and was trying to demonstrate to him the Harlem shuffle.  She’d even removed her boots in an attempt to be more nimble.

Unfortunately, she slipped, flying into the air and landing with limbs akimbo.  

Normally, said fall would have resulted in sprains, strains, dislocation and even a break.  But the rules of the Time Lords were clear:  you could not change a body extracted from its timeline.  Frozen between one heartbeat and her last, her limbs remained exactly the same.  Her skin did not break, her capillaries did not burst and leave bruises, and the loud _crack_ of her head smashing into the floor did not signal any possible damage to her brain.  Frozen, almost like she was in a bubble.

_Almost_.  Because in a cruel trick of irony, there was one part of her body that still worked:  her nerves.     

The pain, the _pain_ – her mind went white with it, and she tearfully begged through her delirium to pass out, to put her out of her misery.  But losing consciousness involved blood flow, and that was a mercy that the Time Lord laws didn’t allow.  The pain would’ve made her nauseous or even vomit – but with frozen bodily fluids, there was no churning of her stomach, no gastrointestinal juices to swirl around.  No blood flow, no bodily fluids, no choices for her body. 

There was nothing for it but to scream.

With no one to hear her, she could scream as loud as she wanted.

Without the need for air, she could scream for as long as she wanted.

With the physical pain signals completely overtaking her mind, it wasn’t a conscious choice – not to start, anyway.  But as the hours and days passed, her screams changed, taking on a life of their own.  The physical pain receded as her circumstances rose to the surface, and for the first time, those carefully drawn boundaries around those minefield topics crumbled, leaving them exposed. 

That she had been told to leave as soon as she arrived, but refused, needing to help.  Needing to feel useful again, needing to run from the faces of those she couldn’t save –

Like Nakbu.

Nakbu, only 18 years old.  Nakbu, with her bright, starry eyes, desperate to escape from a family of 30 on the teeny, cramped planet of Jacinthlo and find her own place in the Universe. 

Her _eyes._

Clara would never forget them:  the desperation and terror in those eyes as she flailed in the waters of the Treacherous Seas of Triktillfania.  Delivering the lifeless body of a girl who’d had her whole life ahead of her to her relatives was bad enough.  But when it was 30 relatives who had lost a daughter, a sister, a niece, a granddaughter, even an aunt -

If only Clara had asked Nakbu if she could swim _before_ they wound up on a planet covered by water.  If only they hadn’t been captured by Fokir pirates.  If only she had been less careless, remembered that just because she was virtually indestructible didn’t mean that everyone else was –

_Clara, there’s nothing special about me – I am nothing – but I’m less BREAKABLE than you!_

And now that she was thinking of Nakbu, other wounds opened.  For everyone she’d lost – for other companions, for the few spouses she’d allowed herself, the lovers, the friends – for all the people she’d tried to save over the centuries and couldn’t.  For everyone she had disappointed…

Until there was a steady stream, the grief flowing for those she had lost when she was still on Earth, still a normal thirty-year-old human being with her finite life ahead of her.  For Danny, who she couldn’t love in the right way.  For that mad man who had shown up on her doorstep dressed as a monk.  For her mum, a loss that still ached all these centuries later…

With her world narrowed to the torrent of her grief, she missed the muffled voices and the static.  She missed the different pitches, the inflection of them, the worry and concern underlying them as they attempted anxious inquiries through the static.  She even missed the knocking.

Until finally –

“ _Hello??  Can you hear me?  Are you okay in there?  Hello_??”

Actual, proper words.

A woman’s voice?    


	2. Chapter 2

_“Hello??  Can you hear me?”_  

She turned her head towards the source of the sound.  Blinked once, twice, her screams dying in her throat.  Her eyes widened to what the Doctor would have described as comical or inflated, her pupils dilated as much as possible as though they could take in sound, confirm that there was a person, a creature, another being – 

“Hello?”  Clara’s voice was raw, or maybe it just sounded that way to her ears.  She cleared her throat.  “Hello?”  This time louder. 

_“Hello!  Are you all right in there?  Are you in pain?”_  

Was it her imagination, or did the woman’s voice have a distinct Yorkshire twang to it?   

She swiveled to a seated position, her limbs pain-free now.  They had probably been that way for a while.  “Are you…real?  Are you actually, properly real?” 

_“Yeah, ‘mreal!”_  The voice enthusiastically confirmed.   _“I’m real, right Yaz?”_  

There was a muffled reply.   

_“Ryan?”_  

Another muffled reply, this time pitched lower. 

_“Graham?  Wait…where’s Graham?”_  

This time a couple of muffled replies, one pitched higher, another lower.  

“ _Again?!  I told him there was nothing open around here.  Right – you guys go fetch him, tell him the plan.  We’re gonna need him.”_  

The lower-pitched voice seemed to pose some kind of question.

_“Well don’t tell him THAT!  Then he’ll never help us.”_

The higher-pitched voice seemed to offer a suggestion.

_“Brilliant!  Ryan, go with Yaz on this.  And let me know if you run into anyone.”_

Clara was clever, yes, more clever than most.  But three voices, the names, the different inflections – and then the disagreement and negotiation.  Even she would not make up something with this level of detail.   

It was enough to send her scrambling to her feet, headed in the direction the voices were coming from in the far corner.  “I believe you!  Sorry, yes!  I believe you – I just – it’s been so long, I didn’t – I wanted to make sure!”  Her words tumbled over each other, desperate to reach the people on the other side of her prison, rusty conversational skills be damned.  “Hello!  Are you still there?  Can you help me?”  She banged on the wall.  “Please!  Can you get me out of here?” 

_“That’s why we’re here!  ‘mjust tryin’ to get this to…”_   There was another muffled sound, followed by a scratchy sound and several beeps.  “There.  There, did that do anything?” 

The sound was crystal-clear now, like the woman was standing right next to her.  Was in the room with her.  Like she wouldn’t have to spend the rest of eternity with only her thoughts and memories for company.  Like she wouldn’t be doomed to be trapped here forever. 

Like she wasn’t alone. 

“Yes,” she whispered, as if speaking any louder might scare her would-be rescuers away.  “It’s like you’re here with…”  Saying it was even harder, as the months, years –  _decades?_  – of being alone rose like a tidal wave.   

The woman seemed to understand.  “Hey, hey.”  Her voice was soft, soothing.  “It’s all right.  It’s okay.” 

“Sorry.”  That voice that normally yelled at her to  _quit carrying on_  was silenced by the rush that accompanied the mere experience of exchanging words with another person.  “It’s just been so long since I’ve heard anyone else’s voice.” 

“Well, you’re going to be hearing a lot more soon.  We’re gonna get you out of there, I promise.  What’s your name?” 

Clara had used so many names in the past:  names with significant meaning, completely improvised names, names she tried her hardest to forget.  But stripped down to a trembling mess of vulnerability, the only one that came to her in that moment was her original Earth-given name.  “It’s...it’s Clara.” 

There was a pause.  “Good name.  Clara.”   

Clara scoffed, familiar with these make-your-helpless-victim-feel-comfortable tactics.  “Thanks.  Even if I know you’re just saying that.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.  ‘Cause actually…it’s my favourite.” 

This time Clara very nearly believed her, the way her tone had changed.  Sounding almost reverent. 

Then it was right back to business.  “Right, so just as soon as my friends come back, we’re getting you out of there.  In the meantime, I’m gonna keep working on this seal because it is…it’s like it’s fused shut!  No crack…no crevice…not even a crinkle.  How did you get in there??” 

“I was trying to help evacuate the planet.”  Clara explained the emergency she’d arrived to and how she’d used her ship to unload all of the people in the shelters, finding this one last.  “Must have been an early model, I guess.  It fused shut as soon as I stepped inside.” 

“So it’s just you then?  There’s no one else in there?” 

“No, it’s just me.  Literally just me - there’s nothing inside.  No supplies, no equipment, nothing.  Since they were never planning on using it, guess they didn’t feel the need to fill it.”   

“No supplies?  Not even any food?” 

“No.”  Clara gazed mournfully around her black space.  “There’s nothing in here.  Not even light.” 

“No light, okay.  No supplies, no food, no light…is there gravity?” 

“Yeah.”  She rubbed at her shoulder as it throbbed with phantom pain from her dancing accident.  “There’s definitely gravity.  Planet-side or maybe even augmented a bit?”  That fall shouldn’t have hurt nearly as much it did.  Not that there was any consolation in that. 

“Huh.”  There was a pause.  “If there’s no sustenance and no light – sorry, bit of a personal question I know - but what species are you, exactly?” 

“I’m uh – I’m a modified human.” 

“So were you enhanced in some way?  Are you part cyborg?  Not judging, of course – some of my best mates were cyborgs.”   

“No, I’m not.  I’m – I was a normal human being, but then – something happened so that now I don’t have to eat or sleep. Or breathe, actually.  I don’t think there’s any air in here.”  

“What do you mean something happened to you?”  There was a note of urgency to her question that Clara didn’t understand.  “What happened to you?  Describe it exactly.”  

How long had it been since she’d told the truth?  Clara had told so many stories over the centuries about her “condition,” but here, having her first conversation with an actual person in who knew how long, telling the truth seemed the only course of action.  “I was about to die.  A long time ago.  And – I was frozen before the moment of my death, and my life processes were frozen, too.  So I don’t need to eat or sleep or breathe.  No heartbeat.  I can still cry, and I still feel pain, but everything else is just stopped.  Otherwise I would’ve died in here.” 

There was no reply for a while.  Not even the sound of her breathing.  Had she frightened the poor woman?  Clara had to act fast. 

“But I’m not dangerous,” Clara hurried to explain.  “I would never hurt anyone – you and your friends, I swear I won’t hurt you.”  In desperation, she placed her hand over where the voice was coming in.  “I promise.  Please.  As soon as you help me get out of here, I will leave – I have my own ship.  I’ll leave you and your friends alone, I promise.  Please?”  Her heart was sinking fast as the woman’s silence dragged on.  Was she one of those fanatical religious types?  She’d run into those more times than she’d care to remember.  Whether she was labeled a witch, a vampire, a demon, a robot, or something far more nefarious than all of those – she generally carefully concealed her “modifications” for this very reason.   

“ _Clara_.”  The woman’s tone had changed, sounding almost like a plea.  “I said I would get you out of there.  I made you a promise, and I promise you, I’m gonna get you out.  Okay?”  There was more emotion in her voice now, and Clara wondered if perhaps the woman had been pursued herself, maybe even confined against her will.  There was a tapping sound.  “D’ye hear that?” 

“Yes.”  It was right next to where Clara had placed her hand. 

“I know you can’t feel it, but that’s my hand...right there.  That’s my hand, Clara.” 

It was such a touching gesture from this stranger that Clara felt her throat tighten.  Sliding her hand over, she placed her palm over the source of the sound, imagining the touch of another person.  “I  _can_  feel it.”  Her reply came out in a whisper, savoring the intimacy of the moment, the closest thing she’d had to contact.  She rested her cheek above her hand, her eyes closing as something like hope washed over her.  “I can feel it.”  

This time the woman’s voice had dropped to a murmur.  “I’m gonna get you out of there, Clara.  I promise.  No matter how long it takes me, I will get you out.  All right?” 

Tears came to her eyes, her chest filling with gratitude for this woman who was showing her such compassion.  “Thank you,” was all she could say.  “Thank you…sorry, what’s your name?”  She let out a sheepish laugh.  “I normally ask that straightaway.  And honestly, the least I can do is call you by your name.” 

“My name, yeah!”  The woman’s tone had changed again, climbing several notches higher.  “It’s – it’s Jah – Jahhhh - Jane.  My name’s Jane.  Jane Smmm – Jane Stewart.” 

Clara filed this away, resisting the urge to offer pointers on lying.  Clearly, she wasn’t in a habit of concealing her identity.  Yet, drawing any attention to it could easily be misinterpreted as criticism.  And the Gods knew she certainly didn’t want to say or do anything to change this compassionate woman’s mind about rescuing her.  “Jane.  Nice to meet you.  Thank you, Jane.” 

“Don’t worry about it.”  There were some more muffled sounds, maybe a faint whirring followed by what could have been electronic beeps.  “I’m running some calculations over here, which is going to take a while ‘cause the s -…my instrument needs to calibrate to whatever this is made of, and it’s run into some difficulties.  I’ve managed to transfer the voicebox interface so it transmits all over, though  _so_  - now I can work, and you can keep me company!” 

“Sure.”  Clara settled down on the floor herself, trying to picture where Jane was working.  “I love meeting new people and hearing their stories.  Tell me about yourself.”   

“Me?  Nah, my life is pretty boring, nothing you’d want to hear about.  Plus, if I’m working...”  There were a couple of grunts.  “I’d much prefer to listen while you talk.  I’m rubbish at multi-tasking.  Don’t want to accidentally electrocute myself.  Again.  Or break something I’m not supposed to.  Or someone.  Like myself! - done  _that_  one too many times to count.” 

Clara smiled.  “Sounds like you’ve had the opposite of a boring life, Jane.  Really, I’d love to hear about it.” 

“Well, how ’bout this?  Why don’t you go first so I don’t blow us up or –  _oh_!” There was a crackling sound.  

“You okay??” 

“Yeah, it’s fine.  Just sparks.  Nothing to worry about.”  

Clara made a valiant effort not to smile, but it was difficult when it felt so... _familiar_.  Like they were old friends.  Or maybe it was just that she always got on with mad scientist-types.  Not that she was entertaining any thoughts of forming a further bond with this woman when she got out:  she’d learnt that lesson multiple times over by now.  “Fair enough.  What do you want to know?” 

“Tell me about your life, what you’ve been doing, where you’ve gone, what you’ve seen!  Who you’ve seen it with, what you’ve done.  I want to know everything.” 

Clara laughed.  “Is that all?” 

“Yep, everything.  Start at the beginning if you like. Where are you from?  How did you get here?  And don’t leave anything out.” 

Normally, Clara would be wary of such eagerness for information about herself.  But Jane seemed so sincere in her enthusiasm – it couldn’t hurt to humour her, could it?  Maybe she didn’t get out much.  Or maybe she just really loved people.  Whatever her reasons for being so hungry for Clara’s story, Clara made the decision that for once, she wouldn’t hold anything back.  She wouldn’t be vague or provide half-truths.  And honestly, after being alone for so long, she found that the desire to share her story overwhelmed any desire for self-preservation.    

“Well…if we’re starting at the very beginning - I’m originally from Earth, from a place called the United Kingdom.  I was born there over a million years ago…” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor has arrived, whoo hoo! But also - ACK because I have only three episodes to work off of thus far, so writing her was more nerve-wracking. Anyway, I hope y'all like dialogue 'cause this story is VERY dialogue-heavy. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Time had been Clara’s worst enemy for a while now:  passing slowly, sometimes painfully so, and always in the right order.  With nothing to see, nowhere to go, nothing to do, no distractions, no sound, not even the luxury of sleep to kill a few hours here and there – time inched by.  But finally, _finally_ time faded into the background as Clara talked and talked and talked to the captive audience she’d somehow found in Jane.  Jane wasn’t just an excellent listener, though – she was an active one, interjecting with questions, only interrupting Clara’s flow with requests for her to elaborate on this one visit, this one person, this one relationship.  Jane had warmed up to Clara so quickly that she didn’t even hesitate now to outright _demand_ answers, especially for those times when Clara had compromised her safety.    

“But  _why_ would you go out there when they’d already been floating in the wreckage for more than five minutes?  And with a hole in your space suit, your blood would boil, you’d freeze – not to mention literally burning up from being that close to the Polzon sun!”  Jane sounded borderline exasperated, and not for the first time. 

“I  _had_ to try, Jane – I couldn’t just leave them there if was any chance that they might still be alive.  I couldn’t just give up on them.  And I was fine – my body didn’t freeze or burn, and no pulse means no boiling blood.”   

That didn’t seem to placate Jane.  “So you didn’t feel the freezing temperatures or the heat of the sun then?” 

“Oh no, I felt it.” 

Jane let out a noise of protest. 

“But I didn’t know I would - not then, anyway.  You have to understand, those were  _very_ early days for me, not long after I’d - changed.  Once I knew my nerves still worked, I was definitely a lot more careful.  No re-entering burning buildings to rescue someone’s pet Cluffbaw.” 

The quip clearly didn’t land with Jane, her silence almost palpable through the wall – though perhaps it was because she needed to concentrate on what she was doing.  “Clara…”  Jane finally said, her exasperation gone and replaced with something that sounded almost tentative.  “Who did this to you?” 

“I told you.  I got caught in this shelter myself.” 

“No – I mean who froze your life processes?  Who made you like you are today?  You said something ‘happened’ to you, which means it wasn’t yourchoice.  So whose was it?” 

“Oh.”  Clara scratched absentmindedly at her ankle.  “There’s this race of people called the Time Lords from the planet Gallifrey.  Have you heard of them?” 

Jane made some noncommittal noise.  “Some stories maybe.” 

“Well, a long time ago, I used to travel with this…man.  He was a Time Lord.  And his people were the ones who had the technology to freeze my life processes, using an extraction chamber.” 

“But why would they do that?  Aren’t Time Lords something of a pretentious lot, known for liking things to be ‘just so?’  That’s what the stories say, anyway.” 

“Well - it was because of this man.  He lied to them and told them I had important information they were in desperate need of.” 

Jane’s tone had turned bitter.  “So this Time Lord man is responsible for what happened to you.” 

“He was just trying to save my life.”  She raised her head in the direction of Jane’s voice, like she could fix her with a hopeful stare.  “Wait.  Have you heard of him?  Did the Doctor come up in any of those stories?” 

“Doctor...who?” 

Clara giggled at Jane’s completely inadvertent joke.  “That was his name.  Not ‘Doctor Who,’ but people often got confused and called him that when he introduced himself.  Sort of a joke that....anyway.”  She cleared her throat.  “It wasn't his proper name, but he called himself the Doctor.”  

“And he fancied himself a what – a doctor who could interfere with the natural order of things and bring someone back to life?  What sort of doctor does that?  He sounds arrogant.  And reckless.  And – and  _self-involved.”_       

Clara had to resist the urge to leap to his defense.  “He was, in some ways, but the Doctor is…was - he _was_ also brilliant and funny and completely mad.  And he  _really_ didn’t like endings.  He couldn’t let go of me.  And I think…”  She let out a sigh, her smile bittersweet.  “I think it was because he could never say what he felt.  I don’t know if it was ‘cause he was an alien or he was a man or that was just his personality, but he was absolute rubbish at feelings.” 

Jane let out an amused noise.  “Probably a bit of everything.  Though I must say being a man, the emotions are like these strange balls of…stuff, like – have you ever been to Ensalok III?” 

“No.” 

“Well, on Ensalok III there are these trees called Mrphrtrk trees.  And they’re enormous – hundreds and hundreds of meters high, and the seed pods are wrapped inside this protective casing, just thousands of them all stuck together, hanging off the branches.  And as soon as they fall, the seeds tumble out, and if you’re standing under one, you see this giant seed pod ball come hurtling towards you, and so what do you think?  ‘I should move away,’ right?  But then the seed pods hit the air and emit these gasses that just end up disorientating you and before you know it, you’re looking at the ground with all these seed pods scattered around and wondering how you got there and when did they fall.  It’s like that.” 

Clara blinked in confusion.  “What is?” 

“Having emotions as a man.  Emotions are a lot easier to identify when you’re not.  It’s like ‘Oh!  That’s sadness.  Oh!  There’s anger.’  Really, I mean it’s like they come in these neat little packages!  It’s very convenient.” 

Jane hadn’t identified herself as human, so it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that she hadn’t always been a woman.  Or that she even was one now.  “Right.  So…you’ve been a man before, then?” 

Something dropped followed by a muttered word that could’ve been a curse.  “What?  What makes you say that?” 

“Well, you said that emotions are easier to identify as a woman.  Not like the Mrphtrk trees.” 

“Oh!  No, no, I’ve always been a woman.  I’m a...Forever woman.  Forever a woman, that’s me!” 

Was she from a race that frowned on transgendered people?  It was entirely possible.  Like Jane’s name, Clara just went along with it.  “Okay.  Then - I’m a Forever woman, too.” 

“Great!”  Jane’s voice had climbed several octaves.  “We’re both women!  It’s great to be a woman, isn’t it?  Really great.” 

Yes, clearly this was something new to her, but maybe it had been a traumatic change for Jane.  Maybe becoming a woman hadn’t been  _her_  choice.  “Most of the time.  Sometimes I wish I were a man.  It would definitely make some things easier.” 

“Yeah.  Me, too.”  Jane was quiet for a second, but when she spoke again, her words were full of sincerity.  “I’m really sorry this happened to you.  That the Doctor did this to you.  He had no right.” 

“Don’t be – it's okay.  Like I said, it was ‘cause he hated endings – and because he was so rubbish at feelings, at saying what he felt.” 

“That doesn’t excuse it.”  A pause.  “You really think that’s the reason he did it?  Because he couldn’t say what he felt?” 

“Yeah.”  She was pensive again, thinking back on that time, and all the times since then that she had followed the  _what_ _could have been_  train of thought - including the recent fake conversations with him about this exact topic that were always derailed.  Even the Doctor in her head was rubbish at feelings, always managing to somehow deflect the question any of the times she tried calling him out.  “I just wonder sometimes, how things would have been different if he could have just said it, you know?” 

“Hm.”  Jane sighed, and when she spoke, her voice had a far-away quality to it. “If he could have said it.  Some people just don’t learn, no matter how many times... anyway.  I’m sorry that he never said it.  That you never knew.” 

“Oh, I knew.” 

“You did?”  Jane sounded genuinely surprised by this. 

Clara smirked, but it was tinged with age-old pain.  “You know that extraction chamber I talked about?  Well, he had to fight his way through this torture castle to get to it, going through the same loop over and over again.  For four and a half  _billion_  years.  All so he could save me.  No - just so he could have the  _chance_  to save me.” 

“Oh.”  Jane didn’t sound in any way nonplussed by the number.  “I mean – oh!  Wow, that’s a long time.  That’s a really,  _really_  long time.”   

“Yeah, it is.  So why else would he have subjected himself to that?”  Thinking back on that time, she remembered their final exchange in Trap Street.  “Right before I – well, before I almost died, he was gonna say something.  And I cut him off, told him it was bad timing.” 

“Trust your instinct.  It probably was.” 

“But even if it was… _that_  was his last chance.  His final chance to just say it, just tell me, say the words –”

“ _I love you_.” 

“Exactly.  Maybe he would’ve been able to let me go then.” 

There was the sound of a hum, but Clara couldn’t tell if it was Jane or whatever devices she was using.  When she spoke again, she sounded thoughtful.  “Let you go,” she echoed.  “Yeah, maybe.  ‘Cause words…words can be powerful, can’t they?  Like if someone – hypothetically, of course, just some random person – were to say that, but then added a word that encompassed time.” 

“What?  Like ‘forever?’  ‘I’ll love you forever?’”  Clara failed to keep the disdain out of her tone. 

“Never liked that word ‘cause ‘forever’ loses its meaning after a while.”  Her tone softened.  “But from the beginning - to the end - of my life...to the end of the Universe…and beyond.   _Always._ ”  Her next words rang with all the sincerity and unburdening of a confession, her voice trembling with the weight of it.  “I’ve  _always_ loved you…and I always will.” 

This sigh of Clara’s was coloured by frustration.  “Yeah.   _Hypothetically_ , that would’ve been nice.  But again – the alien, the man, the personality thing – all that factors in.  Also his age.  He was about two thousand years old, and there I was, just another human woman he traveled with.  Nothing special in the grand scheme of it all.  Which I get – when you’ve lived a long time, not  _everyone_ can be special.” 

“Nah, that’s where you‘re wrong, I bet.”  There was a confidence in her tone now.  “I bet he looked at you and thought, ‘Clara Oswald is so special, a one of a kind, really, but how could I tell her?  How could I even  _begin_  to describe just how special she is to me, how amazing she is?’  And that’s why he didn’t say anything.  Not that he was right about it, ‘course.”   

“Actually, he did sort of try.  He used a phrase I once used with my students that – wait...”  Clara’s attention zeroed in like a laser on where the voice was coming in.  “How do you know my surname?” 

But Jane either didn’t hear her or ignored her, letting out an exclamation.  “Oh, brilliant!  You’re back!  Did you find everything?”  There were the muffled sounds of the original voices, presumably belonging to Yaz and Ryan, as well as the sound of a third voice.  The tones grew excited, with short, choppy sentences like they were all talking over each other. 

“Clara??”  Jane sounded more energized.  “My friends are back, and we’ve got what we need.  So get as far away from the walls as possible.” 

Clara scrambled to her feet.  “Why - what are you going to do?” 

“We’re gonna blow it open.” 

Giving her teeny shelter a nervous once-over, she found her eyes closing as she mentally prepared for what the heat and shrapnel would do to her skin.  But only for a second, as the prospect of freedom bloomed in front of her, opening her eyes and planting her feet.  “Okay.  Just let me know when you’re -“ 

There wasn’t a boom like she’d expected, but more of a screeching, tearing sound.  Like ten thousand cats were dragging their nails across a giant chalkboard or like the atmosphere was being ripped apart, the sky rent in two.  Clara tried to cover her ears, but the sound had infiltrated her brain, was filling up her cells, drowning out her screams tenfold. 

Then, just as soon as it had started – it stopped.  Even with her skin vibrating and her nerves jangling, she forced her eyes open, desperate for light, to see the outside, for a glimpse of Jane’s face.  To meet this woman who had made it her duty to rescue her from this hell. 

But there was no light.  No outside.  No faces to see, no Jane.  Everything was still completely dark. 

“Clara?”     

“Yeah?  Did it work?” 

The sharp sound of Jane’s inhalation and what might have been an uttered  _no_.  “Clara…we have a problem.”   

“What do you mean?  Did it not work?  ‘Cause there was a  _really_  loud noise like something was tearing or breaking apart.” 

Jane huffed, but there was no mirth in it.  “Yeah. Yeah, there would’ve been, I’m sure.  No, it worked.” 

“Great!  So then what’s the problem?  Were you able to get inside?” 

“Yeah, I was.  I’m standing inside the structure right now.” 

Clara shook her head.  “I don’t understand.  If you were able to get it open and you’re standing inside, then why is it still dark?  Why can’t I see you?” 

“You can’t see me ‘cause I’m inside the structure…but you’re not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun....the plot thickens. ;) Anyway, I just wanted to give a shout-out to my fantastic beta Castiloar for her lightning fast turn-around and her rainbow-meter counter. Thank you, V!! :) And to those who've read and left comments so far - thank you so much! :) I love hearing people pose questions and theories about what's going on - so feel free to continue to leave any/all of it in the comments if you like. For those of you who celebrate/are celebrating - Happy Halloween! ~~o~~ ~o~ ~o~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers! I'm so sorry this is late - I was done with this chapter *last* weekend, but then I was overtaken by a baaaaaad case of carpal tunnel (worst flare-up in years :( ) so I had to lay off all phone and computer-related things for as many days as possible (also why I didn't get to respond to some comments - I'll get to them, I swear!) *fingers crossed* the worst of it is over. So without further ado - where's Clara... ???

“What?  Yes, I am.  I’m right here.” Clara reached out, like she could prove Jane wrong.  Maybe she had just missed her. Easy enough to do in the all-consuming darkness after all.  “There.  Can you see me?  Jane?”  She moved forward a few steps, her hands reaching blindly.  “I’m right here.”

There was that lower-pitched muffled voice again - Ryan, posing some kind of question.  Jane must have responded non-verbally because he gave a short reply, his inflection going down.  This was followed by the higher-pitched voice – Yaz, posing another question, and this time, Jane replied with, “You go ahead.  I’m just gonna need a minute.”

Before Clara could question her, the third voice chimed in - Graham, the tone distinctly somber-sounding.

“Thanks.”  Jane’s reply was equally somber.

What had happened that had caused such a drastic shift in their tones – from the excited, talking-over-each-other to the distinctly funereal in a matter of moments? 

Clara's impatience finally got the better of her. “Jane!  What’s going on?”

“Sorry.  Was just – making sure my friends knew where to go.” 

“But did something happen?  Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine.”

“Really?”  Clara shot a concerned look towards the voicebox.  “’Cause their words were muffled, but they all sounded - sad.  Are you sure everything’s all right?”

“You really don’t have to worry about them – they were just…concerned for me.”  There was a strained quality to Jane’s voice that hadn’t been there before.

“Oh.  Are _you_ okay?”

“Yeah…‘mfine.”

Another lie.

One even more blatant than her name, or her supposed “forever woman” status.  There was nothing for it but to ignore this one, too, despite how much it needled Clara.  What made Jane so keen on concealing her identity anyway? And what was she hiding now?  Something was nagging at the back of Clara's mind, but she pushed it to the side, needing to focus on her predicament and the change in circumstances of it.  “Okay.  So, you’re standing inside a shelter, and it’s not the shelter I’m in.  Wasn’t expecting that.  But it’s okay -we can figure this out.”

Jane was silent.

Right.  So gone was the bubbly, eager woman who promised to get Clara out of there – replaced by this resigned-sounding, muted Jane.  Not a problem, though:  Clara had coaxed, encouraged, and persuaded people for centuries.  _She_ needed to be the bubbly, energetic one now. 

“Soo – what could be going on then?  Ooh!  A time event?  I’ve managed to stumble my way into them before; it’s always possible since they happen when you least expect them.  Which means that you and I _are_ standing in the same shelter, but we’re just on different time streams.  Just a second out of sync with each other, making us like ships passing in the night.”

Jane let out a surprised laugh.  “Wow.  That’s brilliant, actually.”

A laugh – that was good.  And Jane’s vote of confidence provided Clara an additional bump, turning her wheels.  “Wait – no, it couldn’t be a time event.  If we were out of sync with one another, then there would be a delay between us, making instantaneous communication completely impossible.”  Clara grimaced.  “Right.  Sorry about that - force of habit.  Sometimes I go for the wibbly wobbly timey wimey explanation first.”

This time Jane let out a guffaw.  “’Wibbly wobbly timey wimey?’  That’s…that’s quite an expression.”

It made Clara smile.  “Yeah, it’s a thing the – the Doctor used to say.  You know another expression he used to describe things?”

“What?”

“’Spacey wacey.’”

Another bark of a laugh.  “‘Spacey wacey.’  Now _that_ is not something I’ve heard in… science.  I mean, I’ve never heard that used in science before.  Especially not physics.”

“Nope, definitely not.  But handy phrase, yeah?  So if we’re looking for spacey wacey…well, it couldn’t have been a teleport.”

“Really?  And how would you know that?”  Jane sounded genuinely curious.

“Easy:  I would’ve felt it.   You’re beaming molecules across space, which has a sort of – swirly feeling to it.  Swirly is also a _highly_ scientific term, in case you were wondering.”

Jane snickered.

“And even if I’d somehow missed my body beaming across space, I would’ve smelled it when I arrived.  Teleports take an _enormous_ amount of energy, so it leaves this sort of burnt metal tang behind.  But no swirly feeling, no burnt metal tang?  Couldn’t have been a teleport.  ”

Jane made a noise that sounded almost fond.  “You’ve picked up quite a bit in your time, haven’t ye?”

Her age used to be something of a badge of pride, but now it just made her thoughtful.  “Here and there, yeah – I’ve tried to, anyway.  You know I always thought that age would make me wiser, but it _really_ doesn’t.  I still make all the same stupid mistakes I made when I was younger.” 

Jane huffed.  “Yeah.  I know _that_ feeling.”

Clara’s ears perked up.  Careful not to overstep or betray her eagerness, she kept her tone casual.  “Do you?  But you don’t sound – that old.”

Another snicker.  “Well, I’m older than I sound then.”

“Are you?  But you definitely couldn’t be older than me.”  Clara waited, hoping that Jane would take the bait.

“Why?  How old are you?”

“I’m five hundred.  Well – five hundred thirtyish if you want to get really specific.”

Jane’s exhale was loud, turning into almost an awe-struck laugh.  “It’s been _five hundred_ years for you since you were on Gallifrey?”

“Yeah.  Though I don’t look it.”  And she preened a little, hoping it translated through her words.

“Oh, I wouldn’t doubt that.”

“So…?”  Hopefully she wouldn’t have to outright ask. 

“So – what?”

So social deafness seemed to serve Jane at the times she didn’t want to answer questions.  Not that Clara could point that out.  “So – I’m definitely older than you…right?”

Jane was quiet a moment.  “You know, sometimes I feel like I’ve just begun – like I’m young again and everything is new, and I’m seeing it all with fresh eyes.  I love those times – when I’m like a proper kid again ‘cause everything is just so exciting and interesting and wonderful!  And then others…others I feel like I’m older than the Universe.  When I’ve got to make the really tough decisions, and there’s no one else to make it for me no matter how much I might want there to be.”  Jane’s tone had dropped again, and this time, there was a world-weariness underpinning it.

“And how old do you feel now?”

The silence went on for so long that Clara was afraid she wasn’t going to answer.  Finally, she returned with, “I’m not thinking about my age right now.”

Clara could feel her fists ball in frustration. “Then what are you thinking about?”

“Mistakes mostly…regrets.  Things I should’ve said…things I should’ve done, when I had the chance.  Also, things I definitely _shouldn’t_ have said and _shouldn’t_ have done.  The past…the present…and the future.”

Did Jane receive news from one of her friends that had sent her into such a state?  Was it about a family member, a loved one?  Did she have children?  Clara wanted to ask, but Jane had been so evasive thus far that she didn’t want to probe at what sounded like very fresh pain.  “I’m sorry, Jane.”

“ _Don’t_ be sorry, Clara.  You have _nothing_ to…”  Her voice broke.

“Hey.”  Clara’s raised her hand to the wall before she was even conscious of it.  “Hey, Jane.  Do you want to talk about it?”

“ _Don’t_ comfort me, Clara, please.  _Please_ just…don’t.”

“Okay.  I won’t.”  Befuddled, Clara sought for another avenue of conversation.  “Do you want me to distract you then?  I’m good at that.”

Jane gave a broken laugh.  “That you are.”  A sniffle.  “Off you go.”

“I’ve been thinking…if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my five hundred-plus years – other than to never eat tea cakes on Settima Prossori -  it’s that the solution is usually staring you in the face ‘cause most of the time, the explanation you want is always the simplest one. So – we’re both standing in a shelter which we _thought_ was the same shelter because we can talk to each other through the voicebox.  But what if it’s not?  What if there’s a voicebox in _every_ shelter?  And what if the voiceboxes were all connected?”

“So what are you saying then?”

Now came the harder part.  “Okay, listen, I know that you’re – going through something, and honestly, I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done to try to help me out.  But how would you feel…about taking another little excursion?”

“An excursion?  To do what exactly?”

“We’re standing in two different shelters.”  Clara spread her hands in a “ta-da” motion that Jane couldn’t see.  “ _Argh_ , honestly, I dunno why it took me so long to come up with it!  But that means I’m gonna need you to find the shelter I’m in.  So how would you feel about going and looking for other shelters on the planet?”

A sigh.  “Clara…”

“Maybe your friends can help!  And you’ve been handy with the voicebox before - you could probably try to use it to track the signal to the one I’m in.  I can’t give you exact coordinates for my location, but I remember I landed hundreds of miles from the capitol.  And I could also probably describe what I remember about my surroundings, give you a general idea, at least. 

“You’re 727 kilometers south of Karalena, the capitol.  About 49 kilometers northwest of the Shenzuwa Rainforest.  You can see the Villasponter River in the distance, a lovely aquamarine colour, though...I think the enclazine gas killed the plant life that usually floats on top.  Normally there are streaks of phosphorene purple and yellow…shame.  If you look east, you’ve got the Donmashun Mountains ...you can just see their peaks.  They should be covered in snow this time of year, but the gas melted most of it, so they’ve just got these little snowcaps on top.  The gas changed the colour of the snow, too so now it’s blue.  Blue snow...”  Her next words were soft, almost mournful.  “I love snow.”       

Clara gaped at where the voice was coming in.  “Okay.  Okay, so it sounds _really_ similar to where I landed.  But it’s also -”

“1.4 kilometers northeast of the – of a building that says ‘Snacks and Gas’ on it.”

Clara’s chest clenched at the mention of her ship, her only home for the last 500 years.  “Yeah.  Okay, so...you’re definitely _really_ close to where I am.  But – oh!  Maybe the shelter I’m in has a perception filter on it.”

“There aren‘t any more shelters, Clara.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve checked.”

“But you could’ve missed it!”  Clara could hear the hint of desperation that had crept into her voice.  “Perception filters aren’t exactly easy to detect.  Which – sorry - I should explain what that is.”

“I know what a perception filter is, and there isn’t one.”  Jane’s voice had taken on an impatient edge, though it mostly still sounded weary.

“How do you know?” 

“I have instruments that can detect anything like that.  Also, I did a sweep for all life-like signs when we first arrived.  That’s why we came here.  You were the only life-like sign on the whole planet.”

“Okay, fine.  So...so that means it’s actually _not_ the simplest explanation because we’re in the exact same place – except we’re not.  Right.  Maybe there really _is_ some space-time event going on.”  Clara pursed her lips, fingers drumming against each other.  “But how to figure that – oh!  What if we compared?  Look at our spaces – see if there’s any difference.  It would at least give us a place to start.”

Jane’s exhalation was long.  “Yeah.  Good idea.  You should _really_ look at where you are.”

Determined to inject more humour into the situation, she aimed for the lowest-hanging fruit for her quip.  “Well, the ‘what can I see?’ bit is easy, at least.  Since it’s all black.”

“Right.  There’s no light in there.”  Her quip failed, Jane’s tone bordering on ominous.

“Nope.  So...next.  Hmm.  No air, but...”  Clara took an experimental sniff.  “Doesn’t smell of anything.  And...”  In a move that would forever remind her of her clumsy, bowtied Doctor, she stuck her tongue out, testing the air.  Too bad Jane couldn’t see how ridiculous Clara looked, especially since it sounded like she was sorely in need of something to smile at.  “Nope, doesn’t taste of anything.” 

“How about the walls?”  Jane’s tone was still far too serious – especially given that she had just suggested Clara go lick the walls.

“It’d probably be asking too much to hope that they taste like a pasty, right?”

“I don’t know – do you _want_ them to taste like a pasty?”  At least Jane sounded intrigued.

“I mean – a girl can hope, can’t she?  Haven’t been able to taste any food for decades now, so if it turns out these walls taste like a pasty, then – other than being _really_ disappointed I didn’t try this sooner - this will be the best thing to come out of being trapped in here.  Other than talking to you, of course.”  Clara hoped she sounded sincere, putting a smile in her voice.

Jane didn’t respond at first, and when she did, her words sounded like they were wrenched from somewhere deep inside her.  “Yeah.  I’ve _really_ liked talking to you.”  A pause.  “Do you ever talk to anyone else?  I mean - I’d probably talk to someone myself if I were stuck somewhere.”

“Oh yeah.  I talk to loads of people.  If someone were to listen in, they would probably think I was mad because I am basically _always_ having conversations.”

“Who do you talk to?”

“Friends, companions, lovers – past and present.  A few spouses here and there.”

For some reason, Jane jumped on this.  “Past or…present?”

“All past.”  Wait.  Did Jane just try to inquire whether she was single or not?  “How about you?  Any spouses past or present?”  Which maybe wasn’t the best idea if the news she had just received was about an ill, dying or dead spouse, but it was too late to take it back now.

“Past.  I’ve been married, but I’m not anymore.”  And while there was a note of sadness there, it thankfully sounded like an old sadness, one long since put to rest.

“And – lovers?”

“All past.”  Jane’s next question would have been laughable at how forcibly casual it sounded – if Clara hadn’t found it so endearing.  “And you?  Any…lovers?  Any past lovers?  Present lovers?”

Did…did Jane just actually inquire about her romantic history?  Not just “are you seeing anyone?” but “have you dated in the past?”  Clara let her smirk colour her voice.  “Interested in my romantic history, Jane?”

“No!  ‘Course not!  I mean – why would I be curious about that?  I wouldn’t.” 

Clara bit down on her smile.  “’Course you wouldn’t.”

“Right.  See?”  Not two seconds passed before Jane apparently couldn’t keep from asking.  “So…you haven’t _had_ , or…you haven’t?”

Now it was a full-fledged grin that Clara tried to hide.  “I’ve had lovers, yes.  Different types.  As for the present…”  She purposely trailed off, trying to imagine what Jane looked like when she squirmed.  “I don’t have any lovers.  So I’m single, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m not!  I wasn’t.”

“’Course you weren’t.  Just like I wasn’t asking if _you_ were single.” 

Clara edged herself over to the wall, turning as she reached it.  “So – if I could have the walls taste like anything, it would be a pasty.”  Throwing a hair toss and smirk Jane couldn’t see over her shoulder, she eyed the voicebox.  “What would you want the walls to taste like?”

“I do like lemon sherbert.”

Something pinged at the back of Clara’s mind, but she couldn’t access its source.  “Lemon sherbert?”

“Or a fried egg sandwich.  I _really_ love fried egg sandwiches.  Ooh!  Or a custard cream.  My ship dispenses them, actually – it’s brilliant.”

Clara placed her palms against the wall, turning her cheek and leaning into it.  “My ship dispenses the absolute best coffee in the galaxy.  Unless she’s in a strop, and then it could be anything.”  Turning her head forward, she needlessly closed her eyes.  “Jane?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you look like?”

“I’m…I’m a woman!”

Clara grinned.  “Yeah, I got that bit.  But – hair?  Eyes?  Height?”

For some reason this question seemed to fluster Jane.  “Right!  Um…my hair is yellow – blonde.  And my eyes are green but also sort of brown, I guess.  And...oh!  My eyebrows are normal!”

Clara giggled.  “Your eyebrows are normal?”

“Yeah!  They’re not too light, but they’re not thick or heavy.  They’re just nice and curved.”

Clara shook her head, smiling.  “Great!  Nice to have – normal eyebrows, I guess.”

“Yeah.  And people like my smile now.”

Clara frowned.  “Did they not used to like it?”

“People didn’t always seem to like it – I was actually told to _stop_ smiling ‘cause it was scary-looking.  But not anymore!”

“Well, that’s good.”

 “And my height – I’m a lot shorter than I – wanted to be.”

“Yeah.  I know that feeling.”  Clara nibbled on her bottom lip while she waited.  “And…do you want me to tell you what I look like?”

“Ye don’t have to.  I’ve got a picture in my head.”

“You do?”  _Intriguing_.  “And what do I look like in your head?”

Jane gave a sigh full of such longing that it would’ve reddened Clara’s cheeks if her blood were still flowing.  “I just keep picturing your eyes…but also your nose…your smile…”  Another sigh.  “Even if you’d aged, you’d never look…” 

Eyes open now, every nerve of Clara’s was engaged, every sense was heightened, her attention riveted.  “I’d never look what?”

Jane’s voice had dropped almost to a whisper, and her next words were delivered with such reverence, like thinking about it took her breath away.  “You’re just… _beautiful_.”

It was enough to close Clara’s eyes as the words washed over her like a caress, surprising her when the intensity of it brought tears to her eyes.  Clara leaned her head forward until her nose was smooshed, like she used to when she pretended to kiss her primary school crush.  But this time, she pictured a pretty face with blonde hair and hazel eyes.  Placing her hands just so, she tilted her head and very slowly, she opened her mouth, sticking her tongue out millimeter by millimeter.  When it met the wall, she imagined it was meeting a pair of lips on that face framed by blonde hair; and in the place of the nothing-tasting wall, she conjured up the sweet, warm taste of a kiss.  Closing her mouth, she leaned her forehead against the wall.  “Jane…I’d really love to treat you to a cup of the best coffee in the galaxy after I get out of here.  What do you think?  Would you have a coffee with me?”

The ensuing silence rang out loud and clear, opening Clara’s eyes, drawing her features down.  Finally, Jane replied, her voice slightly hoarse.  “I’m sorry – I sidetracked you.  You were gonna see if the walls had any taste.”

Gobsmacked didn’t even begin to describe it, the blow landing heavy.  Had she not just made several completely obvious inquiries as to Clara’s romantic status?  Had she not just waxed rhapsodic about Clara’s supposed beauty?  Had her sighs not been worthy of a lovelorn teenager’s? 

“They don’t.  I checked.”  Her voice was flat.

“Oh.  Guess it was a long shot.”

“Yep.  Guess so.”  She crossed her arms, turning away from the voicebox.

“Um – what about what they feel like?  Can you tell what they’re made of?”  

 _This_ was why Clara had worked so hard to stop forming bonds with mad scientist types.  _This_ very reason:  the clash of obvious signs of interest with their social limitations.  Granted, she’d never experienced it at this level before – especially before she’d even _met_ the person.  But the lesson remained the same regardless.  Good job she had perfected her compartmentalization abilities over the last five centuries.  Back to all business.

“The walls are hard, I know that much.  I’ve felt them loads of times.”  Bringing her hand up, she laid her palm against the wall again, fanning out her fingers.  “It’s…”

 _Huh_.

“It’s what?  What’s the wall made of, Clara?”  Jane’s question almost sounded tentative.

What _was_ the wall made of?  Her brain tried to catalogue it, discarding each as she cycled through possible materials.  Metal?  Durasteel?  Wood?  Rock?  Glass?  Gloraphite?  Azbantium?  Makaworlic?

“It’s…”  Her fingers traced patterns over the surface, but the sensations kept running away from her.

Okay, back to basics, then.  Was it hard?  Soft?  Smooth or rough?  Were there any edges to indicate panels?  Was it flat or bumpy?

“It’s hard, I know that…”  Right?  Her fingers and palms moved over them, giving her multiple points of contact, but for some reason describing them was…impossible.  But why?  There _were_ walls…right?

As soon as she had the thought, there weren’t any anymore.  Her hands went through whatever had been there before, making her yelp in surprise as she stumbled forward. 

“Clara?  You okay?”

“The walls.  They’re…they’re gone.”  She walked around the edge of the perimeter and yes, it was all open now.  Nothing keeping her in.  Arms stretched in every direction, she met with…nothing.  “They’re completely gone.  I don’t understand.  There have been walls here for a very, _very_ long time - where did they go?  Did you do something?”

Jane let out a shaky-sounding sigh.  “No, I didn’t.  The walls aren’t gone, Clara.  They were never there.”

“Nooo…they were definitely here.  The moment I got trapped in here, I walked around the whole space and I felt the walls.  And I’ve felt them since then – hundreds, maybe _thousands_ of times.” 

“That was your mind.”  Jane’s tone was softer now.  “Your brilliant, brilliant mind – it held onto the structure of what it saw on the outside, and it recreated it for you.”

“Okay, yes, my mind is clever, but it’s not _that_ clever.”

“It really is.”

“A psychic phenomenon like that?  That I unconsciously, effortlessly maintained for years – no, _decades?!”_

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“ _What_?”

“I mean – that someone has done that.” 

“No, there _has_ to be another explanation…”

Because nothing in every direction…that meant limitless space.  Limitless space, no light, and no air. 

 _Where are your feet?_  She remembered an exercise she used to practice with one of her students who had suffered from anxiety long ago. 

_Where are my feet?_

She wiggled her toes, then the balls of her feet, raising them ever so slightly, then lowering them to the ground, feeling them meet resistance.  So yes, there was something beneath her feet. 

“There’s a ground.  Why would my mind create walls when there’s a ground?”

She concentrated on the ground, the feel of it beneath her shoes, even standing on her toes and lowering herself slowly down.

“It doesn’t make any –“

Until the next time, her feet met with nothing.

This time it was a gasp.

“Clara?”

“The ground…the ground’s gone.  There’s…nothing.”  She moved her feet again, but they felt somehow disconnected from her body.  “There’s nothing,” she repeated.

There was the sound of a shaky exhale.  “I’m so sorry, Clara.  I’m so sorry.”

“Okay.”  Breathe.  She didn’t need to, but sometimes it helped.  “No light.  No air.  No sides, no walls, no ground, no up, no down.  But I’m not in space – I know that.  Space is freezing, proper _freezing,_ but this is…nothing.  It’s not hot, and it’ not cold.  But there was gravity – augmented planet-side gravity.  I fell, and it _hurt_.  If there was never any ground, how could I have gotten hurt?” 

“It’s just like I said - your mind.  It’s your brilliant, _brilliant_ mind that saw the outside structure and recreated it for you, including a hard ground.  Your mind is _amazing_ , I mean just talking to you a…just talking to you, I can tell.  Your mind is one of a kind, truly.”

“How?  _How?_ How could my mind have created an entire physical structure that was never there _and_ create the illusion of planet-side gravity??”

“I don’t know how, but it did.  The mind is capable of all kinds of things when it needs to protect you.”

“Protect me?” 

And all of a sudden it hit her – the somber tones of her friends, the heaviness that had coloured Jane’s tone – that resignation and defeat, that world-weariness made sense. 

“You know.  You know where I am.”

“Yeah.”

And she could hear it – the dread in Jane’s voice.  “Tell me.”

“This was never a shelter, Clara.  What you found was a judgement box.”

“What’s a judgement box?”

A big sigh.  “Long ago, there was…something that happened, an event that echoed throughout the Universes.  Certain races took advantage of it, like the Cantrapalladians, who decided to build structures called judgement boxes to ‘improve’ their justice system.  So if someone committed a crime, they didn’t send them to prison - they sent them to judgement boxes.  No overcrowded prisons, no chance of escape – and they argued it was kinder because they weren’t technically killing anyone.  Person steps inside, and if they’re found guilty, they’re banished.  If they’re found innocent, the door unlocks behind them and they’re free to go.  No muss, no fuss.  No juries, no barristers, no judges.  Except for one problem.”

For once, her impatience took a back seat as fingers of panic started to slowly creep over her.  “What problem?”

“The problem with all races that think they can harness something they don’t understand:  arrogance.  They couldn’t contain the force of what was inside and everyone was found guilty.  The people eventually discovered what was happening, though, and demanded the government stop using them.  So they did, but they couldn’t get rid of them, moving the towns and cities away from them, ensuring no innocent civilians got sucked in.  That’s why it was in the middle of nowhere.”   

“Sucked in?  Sucked into where?”  There were no imaginary walls to put her hands on now, so she wrapped her arms around herself instead, bracing for the news.  “Where am I?”

“I’m sorry, Clara.  I’m so sorry.  You’re in the Void.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun AGAIN. ;) How many of you figured it out? I dropped a few hints before now (heh - even all the way back in the first line of the story) but I don't know if it got incredibly obvious or if it was a surprise. I've loved reading your reactions and comments and theories thus far - so thank you to everyone who has taken the time to do that! :-D Back in the day (when Clara was in love with a different Doctor) I garnered a reputation for cliffhanger chapters which inspired many a keyboard smash. I love me some keyboard smashes so if that's your bag, feel free to leave those in lieu of words. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers! Sorry this update is a couple days later again - though many thanks are due again to my fantastic beta, Castiloar, for the lightning-fast turn-around! Last week we learned Clara is in the Void - what now?? Without further ado...enjoy! :)

“The Void?”  Those two words hit hard, jarring Clara’s mind to an abrupt shift in thought.  “That’s the – the dead space between realities, right?  All the universes stacked up against each other, and in between them there’s… the Void.”

A sigh.  “Yeah.  The Eternals called it ‘the Howling,’ but others called it... Hell.”

_Hell_.

It was almost a comfort hearing someone say it out loud, properly naming her experience.  No fire and brimstone, no torture devices, no horned demonic creature – just endless darkness and solitude and silence.  No dimension, no gravity, no space, no time.  An eternal suffering of a different sort.  How many times over the decades (or was it centuries by this point?) had she called this place her “prison?”

If she had been tasked with designing her ultimate nightmare, this would have been it.      

Clara made the mistake of twitching a foot, calling to mind the nothingness that currently engulfed her. 

No light no air no up no down –

“I’m so sorry.”

And there it was: Clara’s cue to push through, delve down and reassert that iron grip on her control.  Jane was the only one who could help her get out of here now.  Clara couldn’t let on that she was in any way worried if she was to keep Jane’s spirits up.

“It’s okay.”  She swallowed her panic down, gathering her resolve and her courage.  “Was bound to happen at some point, I guess.  When you’ve lived as long as I have, anyway.”  She kept her tone light, unconcerned.  “Actually, this is the furthest I’ve ever traveled, space-wise.  Never been _outside_ the universe before.”

Silence.

“Right.  So anyway, we’ve got some good news!”

“And that is?”

“There’s a pretty short list of things that could hurt me in here since most creatures need some sort of air to breathe.  So other than robots and some androids I suppose, what can survive without air?  And - is there anything that actually _lives_ in here?”

The question was rhetorical, but Jane surprised her by answering.  “I know Daleks and Cybermen have survived in there, but they’re long gone.”

“Okay, well, that’s good.  One less thing to worry about! Or two, really!”

“There _are_ a few species that can live in there – there’s the Sunyata, the Mi’en Kalarash – though that might just be a myth.  But even if they weren’t, that lot would probably leave you alone since they feed off of nightmares.”

“Yes, good – can’t sleep so no nightmares.  Another win!”

“The Sunyata is just an empty shell, nothing to worry about till it gets outside the Void.  And then there’s the Fractures, though they only target beings who try to cross the Void.  You haven’t heard of them?”

“Fractures?  No.  Should I?”

“Suppose not.  But other than that – that’s everything I know that could survive in there.  Chances are – you’re not going run into anything.”

“Great, thank you for all that information – that’s really helpful!”  Hopefully her tone didn’t sound too forced; Clara really _did_ appreciate the information.  “And now the bigger, more important question:  how do I get out?”

Again, another mostly rhetorical question, but there was a shuddery rush of air.  “I don’t think ye can.”

Ahhh, so _this_ was the source of all of Jane’s reactions:  not only did she know where Clara was, but she had already given up, lost all hope of rescuing Clara.  And though her apparent familiarity with the Void gave Clara pause, she wasn’t daunted in the slightest.  Flagging spirits and moping had met their match with her wit, her grit and her cheerful perseverance thousands of times over. 

“No, c’mon – we can’t think like that!  There is always a way out, trust me.  We just haven’t found it yet.”

“I don’t…”  Jane sounded like she had to take a breath to continue.  “I don’t think there is. Not this time.”

“Okay, Jane.  I’m gonna let you in on my secret for getting out of every scrape over the centuries - even when the situation seemed completely hopeless and there was no way out.  You wanna know what that is?”  She let a hint of playfulness colour her tone.

“What?”

“I go into every situation knowing I’m gonna win.”

Jane’s reaction was unexpected, her broken laugh lasting several seconds.  “And it’s worked every time?”

“Yep.  Every time.  So – what do we know?  I got into the Void somehow, and that means I can get out.  You seemed to know something about the history of the judgement boxes – anything that could help us there?”

“Not really.  Normally, a person has to travel through the Void to pick up stuff from it - the background radiation.  But the Cantrapalladians used a material that drew it out.  Not on purpose, of course, but that’s why everyone got sucked in:  the judgement boxes were absolutely flooded with background radiation.”  Her tone went down a notch.  "That’s what happened to you:  you stepped inside, got soaked in it, and it pulled you in.”

“Okay.  So then can we use the background radiation in some way then?  To get me out?”

Jane didn’t reply for a while, but Clara didn’t know what that meant.  Sometimes Jane fell silent when she was thinking; other times it was because she was avoiding the question.  When she finally spoke, it sounded like every word was a monumental effort.  “Because the judgement box was flooded with the background radiation, I had to neutralize it as soon as we got inside…”  There was a pregnant pause that went on so long Clara couldn’t help jumping in.

“Okay, but – that's good!  You neutralized the background radiation, made it safer on the outside.  Is there any way you can use it to sort of reverse what the material of the judgement box did, draw me out?”

“No ‘cause…I had to close the hole.”

Clara blinked in confusion.  “The hole to the judgement box?”

“No.  I had to seal the hole in the Void.”

Clara could feel her eyes widen.  “You sealed the Void shut?”

“Yeah,” came the hoarse reply.

“With me inside.”

An inhalation that trembled.  “Yeah.”  This time it was a whisper.  “I’m sorry.  I’m…”  She broke off, her breathing ragged.  “I never meant for this to happen…like this – I…”    

Mind ground to a halt, Clara could only blink for a few moments. 

Swallow.

Don’t panic.

“Right.”

_Think._

There had been a hole before.  Now there wasn’t.

But _Jane_ had been the one to close it.  Which meant - Jane _knew_ how to close it.  Jane knew the Void.  Jane was still her only hope, her only way out. 

Focus on Jane.  Build her up.

“Right,” she said, more confidence in her tone this time.  “So – you closed the hole.  But that’s good!  Jane – it means you _can_ close the hole, and that means you can do it again.”

“Do it again?  What do you mean?” 

“I mean that after I get out, that we won’t have to worry about anyone else getting stuck, which is great!”  Infusing her tone with as much enthusiasm as she could muster without sounding fake, she smiled.  “Because you know how to close it.  So all we need to do is figure out – how do we open it again?”

“We don't.”  Jane’s reply came with more force than Clara was expecting, momentarily throwing her.

“Yes – we do.  Open it up again, grab me, close it right back up – and Bob’s your uncle.”

“Clara, you’re not listening.”  There was an authoritarian edge that hadn’t existed before.  “I just closed the hole ‘cause it was too dangerous to be left open.”

“Yeah – I get that.  And we’re not _leaving_ it open, we’re just – creating another opening and then sealing it off again.”

“This is the _Void_ we’re talking about.  The dead space between realities!  You can’t just _create_ another opening – it’s not like you can stab it with a fork or cut it with scissors or use the s – use the shiny instruments on it!”

Jane’s pushback was so unexpected that it almost needled Clara.  “Okay – then how _do_ you get into it?”

“Ye _don’t_.  I’m sorry, but ye don’t.”

“No, there _has_ to be a way or there wouldn’t have been an opening in the first place.”

“The only reason there was an opening was because there was a cataclysmic event that tore all the walls down between realities.”

“A cataclysmic event, okay, well – we’re not gonna do anything _that_ drastic.  But how much energy would it take to create just one little opening?”

Jane’s answering huff was clearly one of annoyance.  “You can’t create just ‘one little opening.’  Even if you could, you’d still need an _enormous_ amount of energy.  Like _supernova_ enormous.”

“Okay.  So a supernova could crack open the Void.”

Jane’s tone went straight past incredulity into flat-out disbelief.  “Yeah??  And??  What, you have a supernova stashed in your back pocket?”

“No.  But I have a warp star stashed away on my ship.” 

Clara hadn’t mentioned the TARDIS to Jane, strictly referring to it as her “ship” thus far.  She’d learnt long ago to keep all references to time travel close to her chest, waiting until someone had gained her complete trust to reveal its proper name and its true nature.  And since Jane had either lied or avoided nearly every one of her questions, sending her to look for the warp star really was a last resort.

“Oh wait – do you know what a warp star is?”

“ _Yes_ , I know what a warp star is.”  Jane sounded thoroughly annoyed.

“Good.  So do you think it would work?  I think you’d have to wire it in somehow, but I’m pretty sure the massive explosion contained in the capsule is roughly the size of a supernova.  You could use it to get me out, and then immediately close the hole again.”

Jane let out a long, noisy exhalation, followed by quiet.  Clara waited.  “Clara...I would love to break you out of there….to see your face – to look into your eyes, see your smile.  And…I would really love to have that coffee with you, maybe some biscuits – I like biscuits.  Biscuits and coffee.  We could keep talking, but proper face-to-face talking.  We could talk about so much.”

Her features softened, melting at the naked longing in Jane’s voice.  “But…?”

“But – what you’re asking me to do is to rip open a hole in the fabric of reality, which would put _everything_ in danger.  Not just in this universe but in every universe.  Every creature, every planet, every star and galaxy and celestial event – every form of life and every form of matter would be in danger.  And I’m sorry – I'm _so_ sorry, but – I can’t do that.  Not even for...I can’t do that.  For anyone.”

It fell like a gut punch:  the emotional cushioning to soften the cold, hard facts.  It was one of those answers that Clara might have given to someone who was in a hopeless situation, that mixture of the truth with a dash of sugarcoating to make it all go down more easily.  It was a tactic she’d honed and perfected herself over the centuries, one she’d learnt so long ago from...

Wait. 

_No._  

It couldn’t be...could it?

And yet – that phrasing.  Her knowledge – a knowledge that seemed to span multitudes of topics, including something as nebulous as the Void.  Everything Jane had lied about or avoided:  her age, her name, Jane’s strange familiarity with her, the flirting, those intimate comments about her.  All general, yes, but how could she be so invested in Clara if she’d never met her before?  Why would she hide that Clara was trapped in the Void, that she had closed it?  She could’ve been compassionate when breaking the bad news, but there was _no_ reason to completely avoid it, to do everything to hide it when she didn’t know who she was talking to.  Unless...

_Unless._

Unless she _did_ know who she was talking to.

Unless _Clara_ knew who was talking to her… 

No.  _No._ Clara had been here before and more than once.  More than _ten_ times even.  Meeting a mad scientist, the flirting, the answers that didn’t quite add up – and her, with her foolish hopes, asking those leading questions – only to hit a dead end, hopes crashing around her ears.  Granted, it was usually someone she could see and interact with, but she would _not_ get her hopes up now, just to find herself disappointed when she discovered that this mad scientist was only that – a mad scientist.  Nothing more.

Time to tread carefully, then.

“Sounds like you’ve dealt with the Void before.”

“I have.  A long time ago.”

“How long?  Like 20 years?”

An amused snort.  “Longer than that.”

“So, so what?  30?  50?”

A sigh.  “I don’t remember, but longer ago than that.”

Okay.  So Jane was from a race that lived a long time, then.  Didn’t necessarily _mean_ anything.  “Okay, so – isn't it possible that the Void behaves differently now than it did the last time you dealt with it?  That something’s changed?”

“It hasn’t.”  The answer was flat and final.

“How do you know?  If it was so long ago that you don’t even remember when it was, then how could you know if the Void still behaves the same way?”

“Because I know the Void, and it doesn’t change.”

Clara huffed.  “And what – you're like a Void expert?”

“I am something of that, actually, yeah.” 

An expert on things that affected all of time and space.  Like she could see it.  Or – maybe she really was _only_ a Void expert, nothing else.  “If you’re an expert on it, then is that what brought you here?  You found out that there was a problem with the Void and you came to sort it?”

The question seemed to surprise Jane.  “N - no.”

Clara waited, but she didn’t explain.  “So what did?  What brought you here?”

A beat.  “We uh – we received a distress call.”

A flat-out, blatant, bold-faced lie.  That normally, Clara would have accepted and moved on, just like she’d done all the other times Jane had lied.  But Clara needed answers.

She _needed_ the truth.

“You’re lying.”

Jane’s answer came a beat too late.  “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.  You couldn’t have received a distress call because they’d shut down all off-world communications.  They didn’t want to risk anyone coming and endangering themselves.  That’s why they were so shocked when I arrived and practically _begged_ me to leave.”

But Jane was stubborn.  “Well, something must have slipped through.”

“No, it didn’t because when I arrived they were so flustered that they double and _triple-_ checked, just to make sure.  I was there.  Communications had been shut down for weeks beforehand and would not resume until one of the captains returned to put in the _manual_ override code.”

“Okay.  Fine - we were just passing through.”

Clara shook her head.  “You’re still lying.  You think I can’t tell by now?  Try again.”

A huff of annoyance.  “We were interested in the gas -”

“Nope.”

“Okay, _fine_!”  A long sigh of frustration.  “We were – investigating the signs of life left on this planet.”

Clara’s brow furrowed.  “That’s partially true...which signs of life?”

“We were seeing if any people were left.  If any had survived.  We were – investigating the sign of life that I found when we did a – a scan with my instruments.”

Something wasn’t adding up.  “Wait - you did a scan _before_ you came here?  Or after?”

Jane’s answer was reluctant.  “After.”

Something had brought her here.  Something that Jane did not want Clara to know about.  Still, it could be anything. A top-secret experiment.  A clandestine operation.  Scavenging.

“But that doesn’t make any sense.  If you did a scan for life-like signs _after_ you arrived, that means that something else brought you here. So why did you come in the first place?  What brought you here?”

It sounded like Jane had to drag out the words.  “You were the only life-like sign on the whole planet, Clara.”

Oh God.

“Me.  You came here for me.  Which means...you _know_ me.  But it’s more than that – it's...I know _you.”_

Jane was silent.

“I know you.  And that’s why you’ve been lying and avoiding my questions this whole time ‘cause you didn’t want me to know who you were.  Except for what you look like – you even _described_ yourself to me – from your blonde hair and your hazel eyes, right down to your ‘normal –‘”

Oh GOD. 

“Right down to your ‘normal eyebrows.’”

It was times like these that she missed the beating of her heart, that quickening of her breath to signal that she had stumbled onto something she _desperately_ wanted, lighting up every nerve ending like a live wire.

“Your _eyebrows_...”  In spite of herself, she let out a soft laugh.  “You said they weren’t too light or too thick, which I thought was a very strange thing to say.  Though one of the things that you lied about was that you’ve been a -”

_OH GOD._

“...that you’ve been a man before,” she breathed out.  Her next words were slow and measured, as she unraveled the web of lies and avoidance.  “And I’m guessing that you’ve been a man for a very, _very_ long time.  I’m guessing that being a woman is still new to you, which is why when I asked you your name, you started to say something different like ‘Jahh’ and ‘Smm’ which I didn’t catch, but that could be….”

_Ohgodohgodohgod -_

“You were gonna say ‘John Smith.’  Because you… _forgot_ you were a woman.  Didn’t you?”

Jane was silent.

“And names…you said…” 

There were no walls to touch, so Clara had to settle for bringing her hands up in front of her mouth, clasped together like she was in prayer.

She might as well have been.

“You called me Clara Oswald.”  Clara let out a broken laugh.  “I always hated my surname, so I dumped it the first chance I got when I left Gallifrey.  No one has called me that in over 500 years; it’s like hearing a nickname people used when you were a baby.  It was so foreign-sounding, and it had been so long that I almost forgot about it, but _you...”_

Her heart, her _heart_ – couldn’t this conversation jump-start her long-dead heart?  If there were _anything_ in the Universe that could re-start her heart, wouldn’t it be this?

Now Clara reached out, an entirely involuntary gesture, like she could lay her hand against the wall and feel her hand on the other side again.  “I want it to be you,” she whispered.  “Oh _God_ , I want it to be you, but...if it is you...if you are who I think you are, then answer me this.  The very last time I saw you, what was the last thing I said to you?”

A long, drawn-out inhalation followed by an even longer exhalation.  Like she was steeling herself.  And when she spoke, it sounded like every word physically pained her.  “’You said...stories are where memories go when they’re forgotten.  Maybe some of them become songs.’”

The darkness blurred, her world swam, and it seemed as if Time itself stood poised on tiptoe as Clara breathed out a name that she had dared not utter in 500 years.  “Doctor?”

Her tone was soft, tender.  “Hello.”  And then what sounded like a release: 

“ _My Clara.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this story/posted chapters before I had read up fully on the Void - just to discover that there was a Twelve/Clara comic where they fought the Fractures. Oops. :-p I couldn't change her lack of familiarity with the Void so I included the Doctor's comment asking if Clara had heard of them as a nod to those of you who HAD read the comics. Maybe she forgot them since that was over 500 years ago? Anyway. Once again, I have LOVED reading all the comments, theories, some seriously EPIC keyboard smashes (hehehe), and hearing all your questions about where this is going. They have all been amazing and so appreciated - (some even changed my intended direction of the story!) So thank you so much. And for those of you who celebrate this week - Happy Thanksgiving!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating change (to T) - nothing huge, but there are some topics discussed that are for a slightly more mature crowd. Enjoy! :)

“Doctor...”  Clara had to say it again, voice still hushed, giving this moment its proper due.  “It’s you.  It – is it _really_ you?”

“Yeah.  It’s me.”  Her earlier warmth was back.

Clara’s brain was still struggling to compute.  The Doctor.  Here.  _The Doctor_.  “You came here…for me.”

“Yeah.”

“You… _remember_ me.”

“I do.  I remember everything about you, Clara.”  And with the warmth came the longing – the longing and tenderness in her tone that now made _perfect_ sense.

Clara let out a soft laugh.  “Should’ve known you’d find a way.”

“Actually…I didn’t.”  Her tone shifted, sounding sheepish.  “They were a gift right before I regenerated.  An entity named Testimony gave them to me – sort of a parting gift.  And an apology.”

“Regenerated - yeah.”  The gears in Clara’s brain spun, dredging up and dusting off old terms, terms she hadn’t heard mention of for hundreds of years.  “So, how many faces has it been since – the diner.  Since I last saw you?”

“None.  Last face was the white-haired Scotsman.”

Clara’s smile was fond.  “I liked that face.”

“I know.  Grows on you, doesn’t it?  It grew on me, too.”   A pause.  “This one’s also good, though.  It suits me – I think.”  There was a rare undercurrent of uncertainty, almost a question instead of a statement.

“I’m sure it does.  I wish I could…”  She trailed off, the reality of her situation threatening to crowd in and ruin this moment she had anticipated for over 500 years. 

But the Doctor picked up on it.  “I’m sorry – I should’ve come sooner.  It’s just - everything happened so fast:  got my memories back, I regenerated, then the TARDIS dumped me out, then I crashed into a train and met my friends, all in the same night.  Or was it day?”

“Wait.What do you mean the TARDIS ‘dumped you out?’  You mean she locked you out?”

“No, she literally _dumped_ me!  Turned herself over, opened up her doors and tossed me out mid-flight!”

Clara couldn’t help her snort.  “What did you do?”

“Nothing!  I regenerated – that was it.  I think she was in a strop about my being a woman.”

“Or she just grew tired of having your fiery regeneration energy destroy her console room.  _Again_.” 

“Not like I haven’t done that before!  Though now that you mention it…”

Clara smirked.  “So did she come back to you or did you have to beg her to take you back?”

“Well, she swanned off to an alien planet where her materialisation circuit got jammed till I fixed it.  She’d been trying to materialise for thousands of years – stuck out there all by herself, poor thing.”

“So you kissed and made up.”

“Oi! - there wasn’t any kissing!”

Clara just waited.

“Okay, _fine_ \- but it was just one.  It’d been a long time for us!  Her in particular – but me?  I can’t be without my TARDIS – you know that.”

“Yeah…I know...”

It was a relationship that so few people understood:  the bond between a sentient ship and her captain.  Not that Clara was ever certain hers was completely secure – she didn’t have the telepathic bond Time Lords could maintain with their ships.  But it was still _her_ TARDIS – her only home for the last...

_Home._

And now she’d never see it -

No.

_Focus._

The Doctor was right there, on the other side.  _The Doctor._   500 years she’d been waiting for this moment, and she was _not_ going to waste it.

_“_ So, she learned her lesson then?”  Her voice wasn’t quite her own, and she cleared her throat.  “And sorry – what was this about crashing into a train??”

There was a pause.  Blimey, this Doctor was quick to pick up on subtle emotional changes.  Now that was new.

“Is that how you met your companions?”  She had to barrel ahead – couldn't bear not to.  “Were they all on the train?” 

“Ryan, Yaz, Graham.  Yeah, they were all there.”

“So that’s who you met after me then?”

“No, there was - someone else in between.”

“Was that person with you when the TARDIS dumped you out?”  An alarming thought occurred to her.  “Ooh - did she keep them inside, or did you have to go looking for them, too?”

“No, she was – gone by then.  I don’t think the TARDIS would’ve done that with my friends inside.  At least I hope she wouldn’t have done.”

“You do remember when your – when the TARDIS got ugly on us, right?”  Right – only _one_ TARDIS.  Couldn’t think about hers now, even though, _oh,_ did she ever have some stories.  The Doctor had never known her when she had her own TARDIS, so it was an easy enough subject to avoid.  “Or when it locked me out when you were trapped in that pocket universe?”

The last reference apparently hit too close.  “Yeah, I remember.  You wouldn’t let me stay trapped there, arguing your way in, endangering both of your lives to rescue me.”  A sigh.  “Clara…”

No.  No, she couldn’t have this – she couldn’t think about that, not now.    

She kept her tone light, breezy.  “Yeah, well – couldn’t have gotten on without you.  Neither one of us could.  Also, wasn’t it about to disintegrate or something?  Plus, you were being chased by that – bogeyman thing.”

A soft laugh of acknowledgement.  “Huh.  I’d forgotten about that.  The oldest story in the universe:  boy and girl fall in love…and get separated.”  Her tone grew nostalgic.  “Since then they’ve been yearning for each other across time and space, across…dimensions…”

_This isn’t a ghost story…_

“Right.  Regular Romeo and Juliet they were.”  She hurried on, nearly tripping over her words in her desperate efforts to _not_ think about the end of that sentence and why the Doctor remembered it all these centuries later.  “So – any other monsters?  Or – monsters that turned out to be lovers?  I’ve encountered a few of those.  Interesting what romance looks like depending on the planet.  And the species.  And – the time.”

A pause.  “Clara, is that what you really want to talk about right now?  Monsters?”

Given the alternative, Clara didn’t even care how fake she sounded at this point.  “Of course!  Why wouldn’t I?” 

The Doctor hesitated.

“Look - you got to ask me all the questions you wanted about what _I’d_ been doing when I thought you were a stranger, so - now you let me have a go!”

There was more hesitation - but finally she gave a sigh that sounded of capitulation.  “All right.  What do you want to know?”

She forced a smile into her voice.  “Everything!  I’ve got 500 years to catch myself up on – better start talking, Doctor.”

“Everything?!  Aw, that’s quite a lot!  Don’t know if I remember everything.”

“Then start with what’s important:  who did you travel with after me?”

“First I ran into River, was with her for a while – not that we traveled together.  Then there was Nardole, and then...then there was Bill.”  There were so many different layers to this name, all familiar to Clara:  the sorrow, the fondness, the nostalgia – the guilt.  “Bill Potts…”         

\---

Time had lost meaning again, in the very best of ways.

It was utterly, _wickedly_ delightful to be the one in charge of the conversation now, treating the Doctor to the same treatment from when she’d pretended to be Jane Stewart the Inquisitive Stranger:  asking question after question, hungry for details of her experiences, the things she’d seen and done, the people she’d done them with.  Now it was Clara’s turn to chastise her or outright demand an explanation for when the Doctor had done something particularly reckless or dangerous or downright _stupid_ – _“And you thought – what?  That Missy would be content to eat Chinese takeaway and play the piano for the next thousand years?!” –_ call out a shared experience – “ _I hate those Monks – we dealt with that lot on Sherokando in what was supposed to be the 260 th Golden Age till they swanned in.  At least it didn’t take you long; took us thirty-six years to banish them.” – _or even console her when she had lost someone – “ _You told them to leave the site, Doctor, and that’s all you could’ve done.  It was Grace’s decision to stay…it wasn’t your fault.”_

But mostly, Clara found that this Doctor was _far_ easier to take the piss out of.  Especially when it came to those complicated and elusive matters of the heart.

“I’m just saying – it sounds like she fancies you a bit.”

“No, she doesn’t!  We’re just friends!”

“And let me guess – you haven’t _exactly_ discouraged her.”

“There’s nothing to discourage!  We’re _just_ friends, and that’s it.”

Oh yeah, she’d heard _that_ one before.

“Have you told her that?  Made it _very_ clear?”

“Of course!  When her mum asked if Yaz and I were seeing each other, I said that I didn’t think so.  And then I asked Yaz just to make sure.”

Clara leveled the place where the voice box used to be with a look. “You _asked_ Yaz if you two were seeing each other?”

“Yeah.  And she told her mum we were just friends.  Besides, nothing can happen anyway cause of my number one rule.”

“’Never eat pears?’”

“Other than that.”

“‘Never be cruel or cowardly?’”

“Argh – other than that.”

“’Never buy spare parts on Spravco?’”

The Doctor made a frustrated noise.  “Okay, so I might need to tinker with my numbering system a bit.  But this is the _most_ important.”  

That got an eye roll from Clara.  “So other than your additional fourteen number one rules, what’s this one?”

“’No snogging companions.’”

Clara’s eyebrows shot into her hair.  “You have a _rule_ for that??”

“Yep, and it’s  _very_ firm:  no snogging companions unless it’s to save their lives. Or if they snog me, it can only be the once.” 

Clara gaped.  “It’s not a firm rule if there are _two_ exceptions, and - hang on!  What do you mean they can snog you once?!  Your companions are allowed to snog you??”

“Just the once!  Then I make it very clear that it can’t ever happen again – and everything’s fine.”

The whole time they’d been talking, Clara had been viewing all of the Doctor’s experiences from the perspective of a fellow time traveler:  captain of her own ship, cutting a path through time and space, helping where she could.  But just like that, her perspective abruptly shifted to more than 500 years before, back to those long-ago and precious days of traveling together. 

“So…so you’re saying that _I_ could’ve snogged you when we were traveling together?”

“You did snog me.”

“ _No,_ I didn’t – I think I would’ve remembered that!”

“Oh, that’s right – that was your Victorian echo.  Sorry – met her before you.”

Clara was affronted.  “Oh, great, so my echogot to snog you, but I didn’t!  Wait.  What if your companion travels with more than one version of you?  Like sees more than one face?  Do they get one snog per face?” 

The Doctor let out a flustered-sounding noise.  “It’s not a – _formula_.  Not an exact science.”

“Have you met you?”

A few more noises of protest.  “Okay, it’s only happened the once.  But I _had_ to snog Rose to save her life – and then when she snogged the next face, it was ‘cause she had someone else controlling her so it wasn’t like it were really her.”

“I _could’ve_ gotten one snog per face!”  Crossing her arms, she tried not to wish for something to lean against, settling on a weight shift instead.  “And you wouldn’t have stopped me.”

The Doctor’s answer was reluctant.  “Probably…not.”

“Hmm.”  Clara let her thoughts drift back even more.  “And – I’m guessing that with the first face, with your bow tie and your ridiculous chin – you probably would’ve let it go on for _quite_ a bit.”  Her grin was cheeky.  “You weren’t exactly subtle.”

“Maybe…”  There was the feel of her gathering her courage.  “Would you have – wanted that?”

The cheeky grin the Doctor couldn’t see turned into a sultry smirk.  “I wasn’t exactly subtle, either, Doctor.”

“Right.  Suppose not.”

“But with the next face…your last one.  Honestly, I don’t know that I would’ve even tried.  Except…okay, maybe there was _one_ time.  One time where either I was completely misreading everything, or – I dunno, maybe I wasn’t.”  Casting her mind back to centuries before, she located the memory she was seeking, sharpening it and bringing it into focus.  “Do you remember when we went on the Orient Express?  The one in space?”

“’Course I do.  That was the night you were gonna leave me.  Not gonna forget that - not ever.”

“Then do you remember anything other than the mummy from that night?  Like…any of our conversations?”

“Ehm – maybe.  That was a really long time ago, but which one?”

“Okay – so right after you found out about the mummy but before the mummy started attacking, I s’pose, we had a conversation in the corridor outside our rooms.  I asked if you’d come ‘round for dinner sometime, and we shared a final toast – ‘to our last hurrah.’  Do you remember that conversation?”

The Doctor made an equivocating noise.  “Barely.”

Clara huffed, shaking her head in slight embarrassment.  “It’s okay – it’s just…I thought maybe something was different then.  Like there was something in the air between us.”  Her smile was fond.  “But honestly, it was so long ago now – it really doesn’t matter.”

“No, I remember it.  But you asked if I remember the _conversation_ we had – that’s what I don’t remember.  ‘Cause I was trying to calculate 19 different sums, recite the 497th Edition of Sun Tzu’s _The Art of War_ in my head, and recall the composition that I challenged Bach to compose that you could play both right-side-up and upside down, cheeky mathematical genius.”

“Wait… _what._   Why were you doing all that?”

“’Cause I was trying to be a gentleman!”

Clara frowned.  “By _not_ paying attention to our conversation?”

“No!  I was trying to be a gentleman, but you were making it _hard_!”  The last bit she said under her breath.  “Really, _really_ hard…”

And here Clara thought she’d heard everything. 

“Did you just - make an innuendo?”

“Huh.  Suppose I did.  Not intentionally, though.  And if you just state a fact, is that an innuendo?”

“When you say I was making it  _hard_  for you to be a gentleman, even if it is a fact, wait – no.  Shut up.  How was I making it hard on  _you_?”

“Do you remember what dress you were wearing?”  The sound of a grimace.  “Ooh, sorry – you have absolutely no responsibility for the effect your clothing has on me, of course.  Or on anyone!  As a woman, you can wear whatever you want – and sod what anyone else thinks!  But… _argh,_ I’ve just – I've been a bloke for so long so I do remember thinking how unfair it all was.”

“Well, you were sulking about like a jilted lover all evening, but what about it was unfair?”

“I mean that in all our time together, you had never worn anything like... _that_.  Which, of course – you had every right to wear, but _...argh,_ it was hard. _”_

Her jaw dropped further.  “Doctor, are you actually saying that you – _fancied_ me that night?”

There was a beat.  “Clara.  I just told you that I was calculating 19 different sums, reciting Sun Tzu’s _Art of War_ in my head and –“

“Mentally playing a Bach composition upside down and right-side-up, yes, you said.”

“Exactly.  I was _well_ past fancying.  By that point, I was completely focused on just trying to stay a gentleman.”

Intrigued didn’t even begin to cover it.  Come to think of it, neither did turned on.  “So – what would have happened if I had used my one snog then?  At the end of that conversation?”

Something that sounded like a whimper.  “In a darkened corridor?  With you in that dress?  (Sorry!)  Standing outside our bedroom doors? On the night you were about to _not_ be my companion anymore??”

There was no air, and her heart didn’t beat, but it _definitely_ felt warmer in there.  “So…so you’re saying that if I had snogged you, you would have snogged me back?  Or…are you saying that you would’ve allowed things to move _beyond_ snogging?”

“All I know is that every ounce of me was focused on staying a gentleman.  If you’d snogged me, or if there had been _more…_ ”  A shaky breath.  “I don’t know what I would’ve done.  Honestly, I don’t.”

Closing her eyes, she put herself back in that corridor.  “So...so what if I’d shown up at your door – I mean before the mummy?”  What had she been wearing again?  “Would you have stopped me if I’d removed my – gloves?”

A beat.  “No.” 

“What about my – shoes?”  Clara’s nerves got the better of her for a second.  “Would you have stopped fancying me then, seein’ me as my normal five-foot-one self?”

“No.  Definitely not.”  The Doctor’s tone had dipped a notch lower.

Despite her lack of blood flow, Clara shifted, her nerves alight.  “Would you have stopped me if I’d removed my – stockings?”

An audible swallow.  “No.”

“I was – wearing a wig.  What if I’d taken if off, undone all my curls underneath...let my hair down, shaken it out?  Would you have stopped me?”

The sound of rustling fabric as the Doctor shifted herself.  “No.”

Clara could feel her mouth drop open, her breaths now coming shallow, a habit that persisted after centuries of not needing it.  “What about my dress?”

The Doctor didn’t reply for a few seconds, her breath coming in and out, sounding laboured.  “What about it?”

“What if I’d...taken it off?”  Her mouth didn’t get dry, but she swallowed anyway.  “Would you have stopped me?”

The Doctor’s reply was breathier than before.  “No.”

“Would you have left the room?”

“No.”

“Turned away?”

A long inhalation followed by an even longer exhalation.  “No.”

“What would you have done?”  Breathing needlessly quickened, she could almost imagine the feel of her racing heart.  “Would you have been able to remain a gentleman?”

The Doctor didn’t reply for a while, though her breathing suggested she was engaged in an internal struggle:  there were several very audible attempts to get it under control.  Finally, her answer came in a forceful whisper: “ _No.”_

There wasn’t any sound then, save for their combined breathing.  Was the Doctor imagining it just as Clara was?  How that night could’ve gone _far_ differently if Clara had trusted herself to read those signals, notice that there was something off in his behaviour, called him out on it?  Would a single touch have been enough to ignite that spark between them? Acting as the match to strike the tinder of their indecision, the supposed rules and unspoken truths?

Riding that wave, she pushed her fingers into her hair, letting them trail down her neck.  “What about now?”

The Doctor’s reply was equally breathy.  “What about now?”

“What if you could see me now?  Be near me again?  What would you do?  Tell me.”

Her breathing continued in her previous quickened pace:  rise, fall, rise, fall – but at the next rise, it lingered at the top, suspended - just to fall in one long exhalation.  This one sounded different, coloured by frustration, by resignation.  When the Doctor spoke again, there was obvious pain in her voice.  “I can’t be near you again.”

“But what if you could?”

“ _I_ _can’t._ ”

And just like that – the spell was broken, the tension dissipating between them, leaving room for reality to creep in again.  But Clara wouldn’t have it.  It was useless to dwell on the past, on the _might-have-been’s_ \- but the Doctor had let a few things slip before as Jane.  If there were ever a time to call her out, it was now.  “You said things before.  When you were pretending to be Jane.”

“Which things?  I said a lot when I was pretending to be Jane.”

“Yeah, but this was one particular thing.  When you were talking about feelings...for me.  What the Doctor could’ve said to me, ‘hypothetically speaking.’”

“I meant it.”

Clearly this Doctor was _far_ more direct than her previous faces.

“That’s what you’re asking me, right?  If I meant what I said.  I did.  I meant all of it.”

Could this be why the Doctor had found her?  That Clara would _finally_ get to hear the words – not as some coded phrase she used to say to her students, not the easily dismissed words of a stranger – but the actual, proper words, direct from the Doctor to her?  No hidden messages, no hidden identities:  just the Doctor, saying _exactly_ what she felt.  For once.

And well - hadn’t Clara bloody well _earned_ it by now? 

“Then say it again, as yourself this time.”

The Doctor made a few unintelligible sounds.

“If you _really_ meant it – if you meant all those words you said to me earlier when I didn’t know who you were – then you can say them again to me.  Right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soooooo sorry, my dear readers that it took THIS long to get you another chapter! Between the holidays, migraines and recovery time (which meant no screens, unfortunately :( ) - and then this chapter turned into a behemoth that needed to be split into more chapters, (I could write Clara and Thirteen forever, honestly) - so yeah. MANY apologies. But thank you SO MUCH for the lovely reviews and comments and keyboard smashes - and then the extra reviews to let me know that you were hoping for more chapters. I SO appreciate all of it (and kicked up my momentum when it was waning, so thank you!) To any/all who celebrate - Happy Holidays! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaaack, my dear readers, I am SO sorry for the delay!! I’ll get into it more in the End Notes for those of you who want to know, but suffice it to say my head and ears went explodey-wodey on me for the last month which has basically shut down my life. But to make up for it – a LONG chapter for you (and *gasp* it’s not the last one! ;-p) Enjoy!

“Right.  ‘Course I can.  Everything I said to you earlier was...”  A tense pause.  “It’s just – I don’t quite remember everything I said, exactly.”

Gods give her strength with this woman.

_“_ If you really don’t remember, then – just say what it is you feel.  What you said you’ve _always_ felt.  For me.”

“Always,” the Doctor repeated, her voice softer.  “That’s right.  It has been always, hasn’t it?”  Her words became shaded with introspection as they turned inward, musing aloud on the subject.  “’Cause you‘ve always been there, right from the beginning.” She gave a little laugh.  “More than one, actually – it's difficult to know which one to choose from.  And you've been at the end – so many endings you’ve saved me:  saving me from myself, saving me from death – being with me through death.  We’ve been to the end of the Universe, you and I – _twice_ \- and now here you are:  outside the Universe.  Beyond it.”  Her voice dropped, her words slowing.  “And through all of it – all this time, all the versions of me that have ever met versions of you – I’ve loved you.  So from the beginning of my life to the end of it; to the end of the Universe – beyond.  I’ve loved you.  And I _always_ will.”

It was no longer a closely guarded secret or an unburdening – but an opening, a flowing:  a warm, steady stream that permeated the barriers between them, a torchlight piercing the endless darkness, bursting into dazzling brilliance and momentarily brightening her doomed existence.

There was no wall, but Clara could pretend, letting her head fall against it, hands splayed out to reach across the Void to her.  To her Doctor. 

“I’ve been talking to you in here.”  The confession tumbled out of her before she’d even realised she was speaking.  “Not all the time, but – a lot.”  Her smile didn't want to stay on her face.  “You’re the one I talked to the most.”

“Did it help?”

This Doctor’s kindness continued to surprise her in how boldly she displayed it, wearing it on her sleeve instead of keeping it tucked away.  “Yeah.  It did.”  This smile was fond.  “You were the one who was always trying to keep my hopes up, not letting me call this a prison, never letting me give up when I just got – tired.  When I couldn’t see my way forward – or why I should keep going.” 

“You did the same for me.  Did I ever tell you that?” 

“No.  You mean when you were in the confession dial?”

“Yeah.  I talked to you every day I was in there, all day.”

Clara blinked, the enormity of her admission sinking in.  “All day every day?  For – four and a half _billion_ years??”

“Yeah.  And okay – I was on a time loop, living the same things over a few weeks, a month at a push.  But I always _remembered_ how long it had been right when I found that wall again.  Everything would come flooding back in, and I’d work myself into such a strop, shouting about how unfair it all was, but you know what?  You were _always_ there.  Even when I remembered all 250,000, 5 million, 700 million, 4 and a half billion years – it was still just you.  No one else.  Only you.”

The Doctor’s voice was saturated with such longing again that Clara could _feel_ it, bridging the gap between them and bringing them together. 

“Did it help?”

“Of course it did.  You kept me going.”  And the way she said it - like she couldn’t imagine how Clara wouldn’t know this in the first place.  “You told me that I was not the only person who ever lost someone.  You told me to get up off my arse and _win_.”

Clara’s smile was watery.  “So did I ask you to break the laws of the Universe for me?”

“Nah.  That was all me.”

A pregnant pause hung between them, Clara’s question lingering, echoing back through the centuries.

Well...when had the Universe had anything but a cruel sense of timing?

“Don’t worry,” she assured the Doctor.  “I’m not gonna ask you to now.  And it’s not just because I know you’ll say no.”

“If I _could_ , Clara – if there was any way -”

“I know.”

_Let me be brave._

“I get it.  I do.”  She forced a laugh.  “Guess the prophecy wasn’t rubbish after all.”

“The prophecy?”

“Yeah.  The one about us being the Hybrid – how we’re not supposed to be together.”  There was nothing to see, of course, but she surveyed her darkness like she could get an idea of the vast, endless space, the lengths the Universe had gone to keep Time safe.  “Look at how far it went to keep us apart.  You come looking for me and it chucks me out, forever barring me from it.”  There was a phantom ache in her chest.  “From you.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“What?  You mean the prophecy?”

“No, I don’t.  The Universe don’t _work_ like that.  It’s not going around, deciding who should be together and who shouldn’t!  It’s not conscious.  I’ve _met_ a conscious universe – the Solitract, a conscious universe that’s been kept apart from this one since Time began, too dangerous to be with ours.  And _that one_ could lure people in and it could banish them – or be a frog, actually – but this universe isn’t like that.  Of course there are rules and laws that govern it – but it don’t _decide_ things.  I used to think like that about the Universe:  bargaining with it, making promises, then shouting at it when things didn’t go my way.  I did that with you a lot, actually.”

“Did what with me?”  Clara smirked.  “The making promises or the shouting?”

“Both,” the Doctor conceded.  “But not at you – at _it_.  About you – _for_ you.”

“Well…but you also did that with me.  Plenty of promises from Chinny Boy - and the white-haired Scotsman?”  She huffed.  “You were the one who started it with the ‘do as you’re told.’”

The Doctor made an apologetic noise.  “And I’m sorry about both of those.  Though honestly, you didn’t get half the promises and shouting that the Universe did.  I was always - bargaining with it, begging it to give me _one_ more chance, _one_ more opportunity to let you live, to bring you back, to keep you there, to keep you safe.  But it was never the Universe deciding.  It was always _me_.  And I squandered every chance, every opportunity I ever got from it.”

“Every chance to do what?”

A big sigh.  “To finally - discover _what we could be_.  To finally stop hiding and _let you see me_ …and to really see _you_.”

_When do I not see you?_

It had been one of those non-sensical, non-sequitur questions - but there had been too many questions at the time, starting with _what do you mean you’re dying_ and _how long have you known Missy is alive_.  But it rang like a taunt in her ears as he stared into her eyes over two half-empty lemonade glasses, earnestly swearing up and down that if he were ever to meet Clara Oswald again, he would know it was her instantly.

“You couldn’t, then?”

“I couldn’t what?”

Deep breath. 

“You couldn’t see how much…”  She trailed off, coming to those words she had successfully avoided for so long - her 500 years of penance for someone she could never properly love.  _How much you meant to me; how much I needed you; how important you were to me_ – she cycled through the various phrases she’d elected to replace those forbidden words.  Yet even picking phrases similar to those she’d used in the cloisters – _you're everything to me; I feel so much for you –_ didn't seem to do it justice.  

Because this was it.  An eternity of darkness and silence, with no one to talk to or be with for the rest of Time.  There could never be anyone else now.

Ha.  And those words had never been truer.

“You couldn’t see how much I loved you?” she asked, her voice barely breaking a whisper.

A pause followed by a pronounced exhalation, like the words had once again pierced that impassable barrier, hitting the Doctor like a gut-punch.  “I didn’t want to.  I was too much of a coward.”

“You weren’t the only one.”  She huffed, shaking her head.  “Look at us – eh? We get trapped somewhere, and all we do is talk to each other.  But put us in the same place, give us every opportunity – and we just run from it.  We were always too alike, weren’t we?”

The Doctor echoed her snicker.  “Yeah.  At least we’re talking now, though, right?”

“Yeah.  Now.”

They’d probably been talking for hours by then. 

And they couldn’t talk forever.

_Forever._ That word would actually mean something now.

“Actually, I need to ask you something.” 

“Okay.”

“Did you try to hide your identity from me ‘cause you knew you wouldn’t be able to get me out?  Did you know where I was the whole time – that it was a judgement box?”

The Doctor sighed.  “I didn’t know, exactly – more of a hunch.  It looked like a judgement box, but it just as easily could’ve been a shelter.  The readings were all over the place and completely contradictory so I thought _maybe_ , if I was _really_ lucky, that you’d be inside.”  Her voice got quiet.  “I _hoped_ you were.  I still had hope, right up until we blew it open.”

Clara nodded.  “And – you did something to the voice box, didn’t you?  Made it so your voice was the only one I could hear – but your friends’ voices came out muffled?”

A sheepish noise.  “I’m sorry.  I just didn’t want you to find out from them.”

“It’s okay.  I get it.”  Her voice came out more strained than she’d intended, and she cleared her throat, forcing some normalcy back into it.  “Are they okay?  Your friends?  They’ve been gone for a while now.”

“Yeah, they’re okay.  They’re in the TARDIS.  I asked them to just – give me a minute.  To talk to you.”

Clara’s nod was slow, the dread mounting inside of her.  “Yeah.  But it’s been a bit more than a minute, hasn’t it?”

The Doctor’s answering silence felt distinctly stubborn.  “Yeah, I s’pose,” she finally said.

It would have to be Clara then.  “I know neither one of us likes this word, but…we can’t talk forever.”

This silence dragged, pushing straight past stubbornness into flat-out denial.  “I guess not.” 

Not that it should come as a surprise:  the Doctor didn’t like endings.

Right.

Clara could do this. 

It was just a simple question.

Even so, her mouth refused to form the words, her throat stopping before any sound could come out.  It took several tries.

“So – when will you have to leave?”

A thoughtful pause.  “I was gonna stay till sunset.”

There were times when having no heartbeat, blood flow or hormones came in handy.  Moments like these were far easier when one’s body was completely frozen.  “When’s sunset?”

A noncommittal noise.  “About three hours and sixteen minutes ago.”

Clara managed a soft laugh at that.

“You should have seen it,” the Doctor continued, sounding awestruck, her words slow and measured as she did her best to recreate the experience for Clara.  “The enclazine gas has left all these traces in the atmosphere so there were these streaks of, of green and purple and electric blue and the brightest pink and neon yellow – a whole rainbow across the sky.”

Clara tried for a smile, but it didn’t stick.  “And now?  Can you see stars?”

“Probably.  I moved after the sun set - can’t see the outside from here.”

“Oh.  Are you working on something?”

“No.  I’m just sitting here.”

“Soo what _can_ you see?”

“Nothing.”

Clara frowned at the voice box.  “Doctor.  You don’t exactly have the attention span for ‘just sitting,’ and – anyway, if the sun set, wouldn’t it be dark?”

“Yeah.”  A pause.  “It is completely dark in this corner.”

Clara shook her head.  “But you don’t like the dark.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t.  You mean for the last three hours you’ve just been sitting there, doing nothing in the dark?”

“I guess I have, yeah.  But I’m not ‘doing nothing’ – I’m talking to you!”

“But why?  Why haven’t you turned a light on or moved to somewhere where you can see things?  Why are you just sitting there in the dark?”

Her answer was soft.  “’Cause you’re sitting in the dark.”

No.

_No._

She couldn’t break, not now.  Not while the Doctor was still here.  She had all of eternity to fall apart; she _couldn’t_ fall apart right now.

But despite her frozen body, her nervous system lit up, the electrical impulses traveling to her tear ducts, filling her chest -

Both hands pressed to her mouth weren’t enough to stop a high-pitched sound from escaping her throat, a rogue sob that would not be quelled.

“ _Clara_ …”

Her name uttered with such warmth, so much sorrow and regret and longing and tenderness and care and –

“I can see it now,” Clara managed, her whisper hoarse from all the stuck tears lodged there. 

“See what?” the Doctor murmured.

“No – it’s not seeing it.  It’s...I feel it.”

And _this_ was why it was important to have the actual, proper words:  they erased the doubts, the questions, the uncertainties.  They opened up the space between them, filling it with truth, allowing her to be stripped bare – to be raw and defenseless.  No more lying or hiding: the walls and barriers between them obliterated at last.  

“I can feel…how _much_ you love me.”

A long sigh, and Clara imagined her releasing a stream of golden light, a snippet of her stardust-self traveling across the Void.  And so she breathed it in, letting it wash over her - opening herself up to this Doctor’s warmth, her willingness to be this vulnerable, to let herself finally be _seen_. 

“Good,” she whispered. 

She fell silent then, letting Clara have herself a quiet cry.  Yet it was a silence that comforted, that held her.  Wrapped up in the warmth and safety of this love that had spanned Time, defied the rules of the Universe, overcome the bounds of what a mind could hold, and traversed dimensions. 

Then the Doctor snickered.  “And it only took me 500 years!”

That surprised a laugh out of Clara as she wiped at her face.  “Well, technically – 500 plus 4 and a half billion.”

“Oh, right,” the Doctor conceded.  “Oh – and then there was that 1000 on Trenzalore.”

Clara snickered.  “So that would bring the total to – what?”

“4,500,001,500 years, approximately.”  A pause.  “I’m getting better!”

That prompted a real laugh this time. 

“Seriously – at least I didn’t leave my half-human clone in a parallel universe to say it for me.”

Clara grimaced.  “Ooh – please tell me you didn’t clone yourself to do your dirty work for you.”

“I didn’t – it weren’t like that!  It was ‘cause of my hand that got cut off and then I got zapped by a Dalek and used the energy to heal myself, but then it grew into a new body when…actually, it’s a long story.”  There was a hesitant pause.  “But...maybe I could – tell it to you next time?”

Clara blinked.  “Next time?”

“Yeah.”  Her tone sounded forcibly casual.  “I could – come back and visit sometime, and we could talk again.  I could tell you that story, and you could tell me more of your stories…what do you think?”

Another blink, her stare burning into the place where the voice box used to be.  “What do you mean you could come back?”

“Just - what I said.  I could come back.”

Clara’s incredulity was skimming the line of fury.  “Why…are you saying this?”

“’Cause I thought maybe you’d like it if I came back.”

“ _Why_ would you even say that?!  Why are you talking like this - you’re _never_ coming back!”

The Doctor sounded noticeably hurt.  “Well, not if you don’t want me.”

“Oh, for God’s sake – that’s _not_ what I meant and you know it!” 

“Fine!  I won’t come back!  Not if you don’t want me to!”

“Oh no – don’t you put this – don’t you _dare_ put this on me –“

“You’re the one who said –“

“Just STOP!”  Clara had to reel herself in, calm herself down.  “Doctor.  Please.  Honestly – tell me why you would say that.  I _know_ you, and you don’t like endings!”

The Doctor let out an exasperated sigh.  “Well, nobody _likes_ endings!  But that don’t mean that _every_ version of me always avoids them!”  A disgruntled noise.  “Did you know that I once burnt up a sun to say goodbye?  Took me months and months and months to find the one crack left in the whole Universe where I could send a message, and even longer to wait for the supernova to gather enough energy.  And even then, I only got to see her for three minutes.”

Clara’s mouth was doing its best fish impression, opening and closing several times.  “You – burnt up a sun just to say goodbye?”

“Yeah.”  A heavy sigh.  “I could have just left it – left her the way we parted.  The walls were closed; no need to come back, to make any extra trips.  But…”  She paused, as if searching for the right words.  “But some people are _worth_ the extra trips.  Some people are _worth_ the pain of coming back to visit, even when I know that I can never see them again.  And yes, it took me 4,500,001,500 years to show you, but – Clara Oswald, you are _worth_ it.  You are _worth_ the pain of coming back.”

_He just left me there – like a book on a shelf.  He doesn’t like endings._

And it wasn’t just River, who supposedly knew him better than anyone:  Clara had run into the infamous Captain Jack Harkness as well, confirming it ten-fold. 

_You know – you’re actually kinda lucky he’s forgotten you._ The next bit he said right before he downed his drink.  _That way when he never comes to visit you, you won’t take it personally like the rest of us._

The Doctor mistook Clara’s speechlessness for refusal, her words heavy.  “Or I could say goodbye now and never come back.  If that’s what you want.  Is it?”

Sitting in the dark for her was one thing, but _this…_

How – _how_ could she respond?  How could she _ever_ respond when there was nothing she could do to reciprocate?  No way she could show just how much –

No.  No, it was more than that.

It was…it was the unknown, the future that loomed before her, that she’d refused to envision for herself.  What would an eternity of darkness and silence do to her?  How would it change her?  Would she even be the same person? 

Unbidden, an image rose of their future visits:  how Clara would fight to retain her humanity for as long as she could, but the nothingness would eventually seep in, hollowing her out.  So that the next time the Doctor came, she’d be a shell of herself, an unrecognizable shadow.  The pity in the Doctor’s voice; the abject _guilt_.  There would be endless apologies…and then the next time, would Clara even be able to recognize the Doctor?  Would she have lost so much of her mind by then that she’d simply sit there, silent, whilst the Doctor called out to her? 

It descended on her with a sickening clarity:  to save the Doctor one more time.  Save her from the pain, the guilt, the hearts-break of hearing, of knowing what the Void had done to Clara.   

Hardening her resolve and steeling her nerves, she poured as much certainty into her words as possible.  “You know what?  I don’t like endings, either, Doctor.”  She pasted a smile on her face, willing her voice not to shake.  “We’ve had a good run, eh?  But everything has to end sometime.  You and I both know that.”

The Doctor was silent for a long time, the only sound a light thump and finally, a sniffle.  “All right.”  A pause.  “If that’s what you want.”

Her final out – her last chance.  Her unbeating heart twisted inside of her, gripped in a vise.

But no – she would be brave one more time.  One more time to save the Doctor.  Her final act of love.

“It is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, MANY thanks to those of you who have left me all of the fantastic feedback in the form of reviews, comments, keyboard smashes, cursing (the last chapter seemed to induce moreso than usual hehe ;)) and requests/pleas/DEMANDS for updates. I appreciated all of it more than you can know. The last month has involved multiple trips to the ER, doctors, PTs, and having to take medical leave from work. The biggest delay, however, other than not being able to look at screens was losing my speech and access to language in general (speaking, reading, writing, comprehension). Just a very strange complex/confusion migraine that tried REAL hard to look like something far more serious, which I'm grateful it's not. However, I never gave up on this story, as it was my goal the second I could take screens again and my access to language was restored. So thank you all for your patience and for not giving up on me, either as we near the end with the last two chapters! :)


	8. Author's Note - update

Author's Note

Hello my dear readers! I just wanted to give an update for all who are still interested in this as it's been 2 months since I last posted. So firstly - I'm MUCH better than the last time I posted (good news!) and I already have much of the last two chapters (other good news!) However, the not as good: I'm still not able to write on my laptop as of yet. :( But! I'm hoping that I will within the next few weeks and then I will be able to work on this and get the next chapter up followed by the final one. 

And for those of you who have commented - thank you so so SO much. It's been wonderful to read your responses and theories and keyboard smashes and accusations for mortally wounding you. ;-p And for those of you who have despaired at where I've left things, I will just say this: the darkest hour is just before dawn. :)

Best,

DV


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